Standing Outside the Fire
by GuiltyRed
Summary: Before he became "the man with the glasses," Brad Crawford had to come from somewhere. Even his team does not know his past, or his darkest motivations... (a back story to "Coming Home", can also be stand-alone)
1. prologue

**Author's Note**

This story begins near the end of the "Weiß Kreuz – Gluhen" sequence. The Koua Academy is in flames, the plans of Esset thwarted, and the psionic hunters slain – but all at a great cost.

Brad Crawford has been carried from the ruined building. Medical care awaits, but his wounds are grave. The psi-combat with Berger has taken a deep toll, and the Kritiker medics are not used to healing damage such as this. As Schuldig watches, helpless, from the sidelines, Brad Crawford sinks into a darkness from which he may never return…

* * *

**Prologue**

_Passado é passado , o futuro incerto. Você tem não tempo mas agora…_

Fire.

The tower was burning. Again. Always. Third time… I couldn't tell if I was smiling, but I hoped I wasn't. It wouldn't be a pleasant thing for him to have to see.

Voices, shouting, screaming… Those sounds were made to accompany flames.

Cold metal, the smell of plastic and alcohol – a hospital? Another hospital? Good. Schuldig will be all right now. I've Seen as much.

"Brad? _Brad!_ Oh, God – someone help him!"

From a distance I listened as someone ripped my sleeve open and struggled to get a needle into the vein. I couldn't feel it, and I couldn't bear to watch. I knew that Schuldig was close by, and if I saw the look in his eyes I would lose what courage I had left. I'd seen that look too many times already.

"_Bradley…"  
_

I've never believed in God, or angels, or any kind of afterlife more complicated than dust. I've never had a use for it.

"_Bradley…"_

Strange, this sensation of turning within myself, to look behind. The frantic sounds of the triage faded, and the faint beating against my shields faded with them. Schuldig could not follow me here, no matter how desperately he may want to.

"_Bradley."_

My breath seemed to catch in my throat, a sensation disconnected from my failing body. "I've missed you."

"_I never left."_

Warmth replaced the seeping cold, and I relaxed into it for a moment. If this was a dying dream, it was a good one.

"_Hush now, farmboy. Rest a while."_

Yes, I think I will…

Time flowed, bent, swept me away and back…back, and down…

* * *

**A/N:**

_Passado é passado , o futuro incerto. Você tem não tempo mas agora. _

_Past is past, the future uncertain. You have no time but now. _

No, it's not Latin; it's Portuguese. The source of this quote will be explained later in the story.

_Side note:_

In all their travels, Brad and Schuldig have never been to Portugal, or even Spain. It's as if that corner of the world is off-limits by some secret decree known only to the one who deals the cards…or the man who holds them.


	2. 01

**1**

_I'm glad I didn't know the way it all would end, the way it all would go…_

Late summer sun beat down on blue-green hills as I watched the old yellow schoolbus rumble away. It had three stops to go before it would run, empty, back to wherever old yellow schoolbuses spent their evenings.

"Get your mind back on your feet," I grumped at myself, picking up my schoolbag and slinging it over my shoulder as I started the walk home from the bus stop. "The term's only just started, you don't need to go getting weird already."

Though it bothered the other kids to go back to school, I didn't mind so much. It gave me something to think about, besides wondering if the dreams I'd been having were really going to happen or not this time. Sure, I'd miss swimming and running around with my friends, but I never did much care for being used as a lookout whenever Jimmy felt like getting away with something, so I wouldn't miss much there. I got along all right with my big brother, it's just that ever since he found out I knew if he was going to get caught or not, it's been hard not to get involved in his scheming.

Black lines snuck into my field of vision as my glasses crept down my nose. For the tenth time that hour I put the dang things back where they belonged before they tried to slide right off. It was hard enough being a little different; the glasses didn't help any. Not that the other kids were mean about it, but it didn't do a whole heck of a lot for a young gentleman's sense of confidence to be shoving his glasses back up every other minute. Maybe this would be the year we could afford those fancy contact lenses, the ones for eyeballs that aren't just near- or far-sighted, but bent like circus mirrors to boot.

Dimly I was aware of a large black car turning onto our street, but it took a while for it to register, like it was some kind of stealth sedan. Like it didn't want to be noticed. I frowned, wondering if they were from the bank. I hurried up, wanting to let Mama know before she got some nasty surprise. Everything should be paid up, but you never can tell with banker types. Not waiting to see where the car went, I sprinted around to the kitchen door and let myself in.

"Ma? I'm home," I called out as I crossed the kitchen and into the living room. My mom waved at me from the stairs. "Hey, there's a car out there, don't know if they're coming here but they might be from the bank," I told her, becoming more certain with each word that the stealth sedan was, in fact, coming up our drive.

She frowned a little, then said, "Don't worry about it, son, just get on upstairs and get ready for dinner." Her eyes had that faraway look they sometimes got when she was 'figuring things out from a distance', as she called it.

From halfway up the stairs, I paused and looked back. Mama was slowly making her way to the front door. I turned and ran the rest of the way up the stairs, suddenly not wanting to be anywhere near the occupants of that car, who I now knew without doubt were within inches of knocking on the –

I slammed my bedroom door to cover the sound as someone knocked politely yet firmly at the front door. Through closed eyes I could see them, two on the porch and three more in the car. They were all dressed in nice dark suits, like government agents or something. One thing for certain, they weren't from any bank; I was pretty sure they weren't even from this country.

The weirdness of the situation caught hold of me, and I felt like I'd fallen into a movie, like I was Indiana Jones and the bad guys wanted something from me. But movie bad guys are kind of stupid and these men weren't anything like that, there wasn't anything the least bit funny about them. It was as if they carried something dark and dangerous in their pockets and it protected them, kept them invisible.

"Snap out of it," I told myself in a hush. "Calm, quiet, and see what you see, just like Gramma taught you." But, just as if they did have some kind of magic shield, it was like time just slid around them and wouldn't show me anything more. With that not working, I resorted to my first method of eavesdropping: I lay down next to my bed and put my ear to the hardwood. All I could pick up was low voices, and my mother's voice a little higher.

I heard the back door open and shut, and my father's voice joined in the talking. Then I heard my mother's footsteps on the stairs. Quickly I got up off the floor and started changing out of my school clothes, flinging my pants on the bed and hauling on my nicer pair of jeans. I didn't know quite what to expect, but I didn't want to look too eager about it, and staying in my school clothes would kind of tip them off that I knew they wanted to talk to me.

As my mother reached up to knock on my door, I realized with a breathless gasp that that was exactly what they wanted: they had come to talk to me, and now my mother was fetching me downstairs for them.

"Bradley? You decent?" she called softly. "There's some folks here from an exclusive boarding school, they'd like to speak with you."

At her words, I felt the rest of the air seep out of my lungs, pushed out by visions of that "school". It was no boarding school that I'd ever heard of, in fact it looked almost like a military academy or something. There were guards… With numb hands, I opened my bedroom door.

Mama looked at me, her face pale. She didn't say anything about what she might have known, she just touched my cheek and smiled. "Come on down and hear what they have to say. You don't have to decide anything just yet."

I followed her down the stairs, feeling for all the world like a man on his way to the gallows. My father stood up and waved me over; the two dark-suited men did not stand, even when my mother entered the room behind me. I pushed my glasses back up, hoping the gesture didn't make me look like a total nerd, and glanced down at the coffee table. It was covered with shiny brochures and plain white forms.

The younger of the two men looked right at me and smiled. His hair was very short and blond, like you see on soldiers in World War II movies. Soldiers on the wrong side. His eyes were pale blue, like chips of ice, and they did not smile. "Good afternoon, Bradley," he said with only a trace of accent, but I knew he should have a thicker one. When he gets drunk again he will have a very heavy accent, and he will be arguing with someone…

"Good afternoon, sir," I mumbled, hoping I didn't pause too long.

"I am Mr. Hansen," he told me, "and I would like to offer you a unique opportunity."

I glanced at my father, wondering why he never picked up on things like Mama and Gramma did, things that I could see even for my tender years. He just nodded at me and smiled, everything about him proud and hopeful. I turned back toward Herr Hansen and said, "Go on."

"Your test scores from school are quite impressive," he began, his tone one of thinly disguised flattery. "The Rose Academy is constantly on the lookout for bright, young talent. A boy your age, with college-level scores, is exactly the kind of student we want. Our school is devoted to the development of intellect and reason, as well as an appreciation for the arts and sportsmanship. If you were looking for an excellent opportunity, you could do no better: we offer the pinnacle of education, worldwide."

I glanced at my father. He seemed to be drinking in the words, too proud of his son to even wonder what they were really after. I cleared my throat and asked, "Sir, if I may, why me? I mean, there are hundreds of other students around here who scored higher than I did."

Herr Hansen replied with a smile that showed his teeth. "Your school counselor informed us that you have been prone to daydreaming and improbably lucky guesses. We understand your gift of foresight, how it tends to run in families, and the havoc it can wreak on a young life. Our school is not only among the finest in education and the arts, but we also have programs designed to help young psi talents like yourself to grow and reach their full potential. It's not often talked about on this side of the Atlantic, but psionic phenomena are very real, and we have dedicated much study to them over the years." The blond man murmured the words like an incantation, like he was willing me to believe him without questioning. "Due to the relative rareness of your particular talent, we would like to offer you a full scholarship, transportation and boarding included, to begin this fall."

"This fall?" At last! My father was questioning it, he had to know something was wrong! But then he only said, "But his school term has already started. I thought you were looking at high school or college, not immediately."

Herr Hansen smiled that wolverine smile again and said, "We can initiate his transfer with no difficulty, Mr. Crawford. He won't fall behind, trust me on that. We have very qualified tutors who can make certain his transition is an easy one."

"Dad," I whispered, then stopped. I had no idea what to say, anyway, and I didn't want these two suits to hear it if I did say something.

As though noticing my distress, my father cleared his throat and said, "We'd like some time to think about this. I won't rush my son into anything."

"I quite agree," Hansen crooned. "We're staying locally until Friday evening, would that suffice? Then if he decides to accept the scholarship, he could fly back with us and I could get him settled in directly."

My dad looked at me, then nodded. "I think we'll have a decision by then," he said.

The two men stood as one, and the blond offered me his hand. "Then until Friday, Bradley Crawford," he murmured, his eyes daring me to reject his handshake.

I drew myself up tall and took his hand as firmly as I thought necessary. "Until Friday," I said, pausing only a little before adding, "_Mr._ Hansen."

Before I could reclaim my hand, his eyes narrowed, and I could have sworn he was looking into me, through my skull and deep inside my head. I felt like a file cabinet that was broken open and rifled through, then everything tucked back in and shut away as if nothing had ever happened. His carnivore smile never wavered.

Only after the car was gone down the road did my mother approach me. She excused the both of us and led me into the kitchen, our place for "special talks".

"Bradley, honey," she said, her voice low and kind of shaky.

Before she could say it, I held up my hand and took a deep breath. I knew, and she knew, and we both knew that we knew. "Ma, it's okay. I'll go." If I didn't, they'd just take me anyway. I didn't know what they wanted with me, but it couldn't be anything good. But I wouldn't let them hurt my family. If my choice was to go willingly or to be kidnapped, I'd be a man and walk onto that airplane Friday night of my own free will.

* * *

**A/N:**

_I'm glad I didn't know the way it all would end, the way it all would go… _

"The Dance" – Garth Brooks _No Fences_.

For me, it is the things Brad Crawford does not foresee that make him such a compelling character. It's too easy to presume he knows how everything will turn out, but it's far more likely that the things that will affect him the most are the things he doesn't know.

* * *

**Review Mailbag:**

**_Terry_** – Glad to have you aboard! And more you shall have; stay tuned…

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**_Bladderwrack_** – Deep, indeed.****

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**_Katt_** – I'm glad you're already hooked, I live for these moments.****

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**_Fayra_** – LOL! So if it startled you, does that mean I said it right?


	3. 02

**2**

"_May it be a light to you in dark places, when all other lights go out."_

I knew what the word 'numb' meant, but I'd never really experienced it before.

Time has never been my friend, but that week it played me rotten. The good moments, the ones with my ma and gramma, flew past. The bad moments, the nightmare time, lingered on and made it hard to think.

Numb filled in the gaps.

That first night, I think Ma told my dad what she thought of this school business. I could hear her crying, and I knew she would smile at me over breakfast while Dad just clenched his jaw and wondered what to say. Sure enough, breakfast was tense, so tense Rachelle forgot to tease me about skipping school the rest of the week.

Gramma kept me from going crazy. She comforted my ma and talked to my dad, and I spent a bittersweet Wednesday afternoon just with her. She made lemonade and spice cookies, and we sat outside together.

"I know you're scared, Bradley," she told me in that soft, certain tone of hers. "I'm scared too. In a way I'm sorry you ever got this thing from me. It's a heavy burden, sometimes. But, if you listen real close, it can tell you how to get out of just about any mess, and I think this one qualifies."

"They'll hurt all of you if I don't go," I mumbled, stuck on that thought. "I don't want to go with them, but I don't want them to hurt you. Besides, they'd just take me anyway." All I wanted to do was run, maybe join a witness protection program or something.

"But you know it won't work," she replied, knowing what I was thinking without me having to say it at all. It helped when she did that. Usually the things I didn't want to say were important, just too painful to give voice to. "Bradley, honey, you know as well as I do that this is bigger than the Crawfords. It's bigger than the U.S., and I suspect it's far older as well. There's nothing you can do except…" Her voice trailed off into a thoughtful silence.

I waited, watching her face. Her eyes closed like she was napping, and I could see them moving back and forth under the lids. Her lips parted like she was talking in her sleep, but no sound came out. After about a minute, she stirred and smiled at me. I could tell by her expression that whatever she had Seen had brought her peace, and she wanted to share that peace with me. I hoped she wasn't about to go religious on me; I loved and respected my gramma, but I never could bring myself to believe in her God.

"No way out but through," she stated, taking hold of my hands. "No way out but through. It'll be hard, damn hard, boy, and it'll hurt like hell. But remember these two things, all right? Remember them, for me."

I nodded, not really sure what to expect, but memorizing every texture of her hands and every line in her face. Faded hazel eyes studied me back, making sure I was paying attention before she spoke again.

"You're never alone, Bradley. Remember that. Grace takes many forms, and things are rarely what they seem." I hoped my face didn't register disappointment right then; I never had a use for a shepherd or even angels, no disrespect to my gramma. But her next words caught me by surprise. "And…don't fear the fire, Bradley."

Though it didn't make much sense, I nodded again and thanked her for sharing. Whenever she tried to See something, it was only right to thank her for the effort, even if the results didn't seem to be particularly helpful.

Since I'd pretty much resigned myself to my fate, sleep came a little easier that night, and the nightmares mostly held back. All that was left to do was pack, and wait.

Like Galadriel's gifting ceremony in reverse, everyone gave me something meaningful to take with me, though they didn't do it all at once. Sarah was the first, with a little wallet-sized school picture of herself. She'd written on the back: "To my favorite big brother, I love you!" That almost made me cry. I'd always been her protector, sort of a knight in shining armor who stopped Jimmy from picking on her and helped with her homework. I knew that after Friday, I would never see her again.

Jimmy stopped by with a disposable camera and a box of condoms. The first was for souvenir photos, he said, while the second was for spring break. He didn't really expect me to use them (I was only twelve, after all), but I'd teased him so much when he'd gone off to State that this was my payback. I laughed and tossed them in my suitcase with the camera, then hoped to heck Ma didn't find out.

Mom bought me a phone card good for three hours. She wasn't sure if it would work from Europe, but I read the back of it and it looked all right. "If I don't call," I told her, trying to sound grown up and calm, "don't wait up for me, okay? I'll be all right. I know how to handle this." That's when she started to cry, and hurried out of my room. I just sat down all heavy and tired all of a sudden, and wished I could turn invisible.

I knew, like Ma knew, that I wouldn't be calling. I sat there on my bed and took my glasses off real slow, then just dropped them on the blanket. My hands were shaking. I hadn't felt this bad since getting the flu last winter, all cold and sweaty and weak all at once. "Deep breaths, Bradley, come on, just breathe." The deep breaths turned into quiet sobs, the kind you hear in hospital waiting rooms when the news isn't good. I didn't want to do this, but I knew I had no choice. No real choice, anyway.

In the quiet inside my head, I Saw little movie clips of things yet to be, or things that maybe might be. I couldn't tell if they were for real going to happen, so I paid attention to them just in case. There were rough looking boys in uniforms, and a handsome blond man who seemed to be looking right through me. I gasped, not at all sure if this was one of my Visions or if it was something else. It felt creepy, like when that Hansen fellow shook my hand.

Then time seemed to skip, jumping tracks like a worn-out record. Laughter, bright white against darker skin. Eyes like embers. Glimpses of fire, and hair like fire; a cigarette lighter; a skyscraper in flames that seemed to double, then triple. Crazy red hair; Jimmy said that color meant a girl was too easy.

I heard myself groan. The visions were hitting too fast, too many. I wanted to throw up. Instead I lay over on the bed and waited for it all to pass. The images filtered out into single shots like photographs, flashing one after the other in time with my heartbeat. _Was that some kind of ninja? Don't tell me I'm picking up the TV Guide again!_ If I was going to puke from a bout of wild visions, I didn't want to do it over a stupid TV show!

Slowly they faded, leaving me with that triple tower image, three different but somehow connected spires wreathed in flame. When I came back to myself, it wasn't like waking up, more like being woken up – a sudden, hard startle that brought me up to sitting with a gasp. The tower was important.

Someone was knocking at my door. I didn't know how long they'd been there, but I guessed it couldn't have been too long. Jimmy or Dad would just have come on in, and the ladies would have been hollering through the door if they'd been waiting. I leaned over off the bed and tugged the door open.

Rachelle gave me one of those squinty looks like she thought I'd made Ma cry on purpose. Then she seemed to really see me, and she smiled a little. "Hey, runt, congratulations," she said as she came in and sat next to me, one hand reaching up to ruffle my hair like I was four. "You're getting out of this little hick town. Seeing the world."

She didn't know. She didn't have the Sight. And I wasn't about to tell her. I gave her a brave smile and said, "Yeah, looks that way."

"It'll be a long plane ride. You gonna be all right?"

"I'll be okay." I wasn't really that sure about it, but I knew I wasn't going to let on to those recruiters that I was scared or anything. "Maybe they'll let me have whiskey and I'll pass right out," I said with a grin.

"Puke is more like it," she said with sisterly smugness. "Hey, I wanted to give you something to keep you busy during the flight. You know, keep your mind off of things."

I hadn't even noticed that she had some books under her arm. She plopped them on the bed and I looked at them with mild curiosity.

"Bradley? You okay?"

I realized I was staring like I'd been shot. My left hand groped for my glasses while my right moved on its own to pick up the topmost book – there were three. Three books of a series. "The Dark Tower," by Stephen King.

This first one was called "The Gunslinger," and something funny happened in my stomach when I read those words. "Yeah," I whispered, shoving my glasses on one-handed and thumbing the book open at random. "I'm fine."

"_For a moment he felt dwarfed by the possibilities of time."_

"They're maybe a little old for you, but I thought they'd get you through the plane ride," Rachelle said, her voice a distant reminder of the reality of the day.

That's right. This was Thursday. Tomorrow night I would be leaving. Another random page, and I looked down at the words twisting there in black on white: _"I know what exile means."_

"Thanks, Rachelle." I barely heard my own words; everything seemed swallowed up in an echoing blankness that stretched out too far. A voice I did not know murmured, "Far, too far," and I felt like I was falling.

"Hey, you listening to me, runt?" My sister poked me in the ribs like she thought I was ignoring her on purpose.

_Just put the book down, Bradley, then everything will go back to normal._ I set the book down with the others and gave my sister a surprisingly sincere hug. I hadn't really expected to do that, but there was so much I couldn't tell her, and there wasn't any time anymore. "Thanks for everything," I told her. "I like the books. They look big enough to last, right? I mean, it's got to be at least eight hours flying time." Just before she got tense about it, I let her go. She'd been weird about hugging ever since she grew boobs, but she was still my sister, and I figured that the circumstances warranted a good hug right then.

Also unexpected, when I looked at her face I saw that she was crying. "Be good, okay, Bradley? And come home for the holidays?"

I swallowed down a lump in my throat and nodded.

When she left my room, I started repacking my bags. I wanted to make sure the books were easy to get at, and the condoms well hidden. To keep the Sight quiet for a few minutes, I turned on my stereo and put on some Pink Floyd. That usually helped, though at the moment all I could think of was who to leave my records to. I didn't have many, but no one else in the family shared my taste. Well, maybe it wasn't that important. I didn't have to control every possible detail.

Dinner was melancholy but necessary. We spent a lot of time not talking about the important things and complimenting Ma on the roast and pie. I had a hard time eating anything.

After we were all done pretending to enjoy the meal, Dad gestured for me to follow him outside. I kicked off my shoes so I could feel the grass of home between my toes. He did likewise. We walked over to the old oak tree, the one with the tire swing and timeless carvings around its trunk like rural heiroglyphics.

My father leaned against the rough bark and looked up through the leaves. "Winter's coming early this year," he stated; with a glance at me, he added, "your gramma says so."

"She's usually right," I commented, leaning through the tire and letting myself dangle there for a bit.

"I, uh, wanted to give you something, son." He reached into his pocket and brought out a small bundle wrapped in a linen handkerchief. I got out of the tire swing and came around to look as he unwrapped it.

Steel worn smooth gleamed in the evening sunlight, a ruddy disk in the palm of my father's hand. Strong, heavy fingers worked a tiny catch on one side, and the cover swung up to reveal the face of a watch. "This was your grandfather's," Dad stated in a reverent hush. "He carried this during the War. It's been in Britain, Paris…Germany. He gave this to me when I met your mother, Bradley. Told me to give it to my son when he went off on his own." Dad looked at me, his eyes misty and his face red. "I can't give it to Jimmy, he'd piss it away at some pawn shop or drop it showing off to his college buddies. But you understand. This is your connection to your past, Bradley. Never forget."

I held out my hands to receive this gift, a gift I didn't feel totally worthy of. "Thank you, Dad. I do understand." This was something to be handed down to sons and their sons, a piece of history weighted with blood and gunmetal.

He lay the watch in my hands, then gripped me by the shoulder. "Be careful out there, Bradley."

"I will."

Like he'd said all he could bear to, or all that was worth saying, he turned and walked back into the house. I stood there, holding my grandfather's watch as the sun slipped further down the sky, until the east horizon turned purple and the west blazed with hidden fire. Looking down at my hands, I realized I couldn't keep this gift, this precious token of my father's father. Where I was going, I wouldn't be able to keep anything. How I knew this I couldn't say, but I suspected it was part of the Sight: a deeper knowing that I couldn't argue with. With a sigh, I slipped the watch into my pocket and set my feet toward my bedroom.

I tossed and turned, then finally gave up on sleeping. There was something I had to do, and it wouldn't let me rest until it was taken care of. Reaching for my schoolbag, I tore off a sheet of notebook paper and started writing. When I'd scribbled out as much of a will as I had call for, I folded it up and stuffed it between my record albums. If it was needed, it would be found at the right time. But there was one thing I couldn't write down, and that I had to deal with in person.

Though it was nearly midnight, I crept from my room and tiptoed down the hall to Sarah's door. With two knuckles I rapped softly on the door frame, then whispered, "Sarah? You awake?" I held my breath and listened.

Muffled sounds from the other side told me she was getting out of bed and shuffling toward the door. She opened it a little and peeked through. "Bradley? What's up?" she mumbled between yawns. "It's way late."

"Yeah, I know," I said, looking left and right to make sure no one else was up and watching. This felt so much like betrayal it made me nervous, but there wasn't anything else to do about it. "I have to give you something, Sarah. Something very important." I reached down and took hold of her hand, then put the little package in her palm. "Keep this for me, okay? Until I get back from school? Don't tell anyone, just keep it safe for me."

She looked down at her hand and frowned. "It's heavy. What is it?"

"It's grampa's. I think Dad would be upset if I didn't take it, but I'm afraid it'll get lost –" _(confiscated)_ "– and I don't want that to happen." I swallowed hard, then got down on one knee like a knight before his queen. "Sarah, it's really important. You can give it back to me at Christmas. But if –" My voice cracked. I tried again. "If something happens, if I don't come back –" I hushed her with my fingertips and shook my head. "Just listen. If something happens and I don't come home, you keep this, and when you have kids you give it to your son, or your daughter, whoever understands the importance of time the best. Okay? Promise me, Sarah. You'll do that, right?"

She looked at me, her eyes big and dark and ancient, like Gramma's, like Ma's. Like my own. Sarah nodded, then threw her scrawny arms around my neck like she'd never let go. But all she said was, "I'll miss you."

"I know."

* * *

**A/N:**

_"May it be a light to you in dark places, when all other lights go out." _

The Lord of the Rings (Book One: The Fellowship of the Ring) – J.R.R. Tolkien

Though Bradley's mother and grandmother See the darkness of Rosenkreuz, they are powerless to stop the events that are unfolding. They offer what strength they can to this rare boy of their line, this young Oracle, knowing that the only way out for him is through.

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**Review Mailbag:**

**_Katt_** – Later on. Brad has to go fetch him first.

**_cu123_** – Actually, yes, it's odd for that particular gift to show up in a boy. I'll go into more detail in Brad's Character Development blog over at my livejournal, but for right now let me say that when it skips to a boy child, it usually gets stronger.****

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**_Bladderwrack_** – It does make one want to cry for him, knowing that it's damn hard for the adult Brad to cry for himself…

I'm so geeked that you picked the schoolbus quote! That's one of my personal favorites, and the one that set the "flavor" for that part of the story in my mind.****

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**_Shadowgirl_** – (ch 2) Oh, Hansen's creepy all right. And you're right, it's only the beginning.

(ch 1) That quote about time bending almost makes you dizzy, doesn't it?****

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**_Mistress of Anime_** – You want to really scare yourself? Go to Google and look up "Rose Cross". I kid you not, there's a history behind Rosenkreuz and the whole eternal-youth thing with Esset.

It's a good thing he can't see all of it, or he'd give up before learning how to fight…****

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**_Terry_** – Not sure why it doesn't show up, I'll have to check that.****

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**_Tysoyo Kalli_** – Oh, it'll be like sunshine here too.

In the desert.

With no water.****

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**_Daiyaonna_** – Now just imagine what his accent must sound like…****

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**_Skippys Cat_** – And who do you guess is calling, hmmm?****


	4. 03

**3**

_A gunslinger knows pride – that invisible bone that keeps the neck stiff._

Friday morning, I watched the sunrise through my bedroom window as I tried to forget the dreams. My choice was made: I knew the path I had to take, though I did not know where it would lead me.

The day passed like one long goodbye.

By the time five-thirty came, we were all pretty much ready for the drama to be over. Even Jimmy figured out that I wasn't so much excited as dreading; he started pacing back and forth, not having anything more productive to do.

When we heard the sound of a car turning into the drive, I looked at Ma. "Guess my ride's here."

The back door popped open and Gramma bustled in. She motioned me toward her as footsteps approached the front door. I frowned, but followed her into the kitchen. Distantly I heard Dad open the front door and invite the men inside.

"Child, I'm sorry I'm late," Gramma whispered to me. "I was looking for this." She took my hand and pressed a narrow strip of fabric into it. Her fingers pinched as she folded my own fingers around this gift, and when I met her eyes she said, "Remember this, Bradley. Keep it close to you always. It has been a comfort to me, and now I give it to you." She kissed me on the cheek, then turned to go.

"Gramma?"

"I can't, honey. I'm sorry."

I knew what she meant. She couldn't be around those men who came for me. "Goodbye, Gramma," I whispered to the closing door. "I'll miss you." My hand automatically stuffed the strip of fabric into my pocket; I'd look at it later. I didn't want my escort to get impatient.

I took a deep breath, then went back into the living room.

Hansen and another man stood there, clearly waiting for me. They already had my suitcase and carry-on bag in their hands. For some reason, that made me very uncomfortable, but I tried hard not to show it.

"Ah, there you are," Hansen purred. "Are you ready, then?" Not waiting for my answer, he handed my father a note with flight numbers and phone numbers on it. "We're stopping over in New York. From there we fly straight through to Hamburg."

"Excuse me," I said, hoping I didn't sound rude, or scared. "I can carry my own bags. You don't have to carry them for me."

Hansen gave me one of those cold smiles, then said, "Of course." He held out my smaller bag, while his associate set the larger down and excused himself to return to the car. Hansen looked at his watch, then stated, "We must be going now. It has been a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Crawford." He shook my father's hand, tilted his head toward my mother, then addressed me directly. "We'll be waiting in the car. You have a few minutes." With that, Hansen turned and followed the first man outside.

Sarah darted over and hugged me, then let out a little sob and fled up the stairs. Rachelle offered me a broken smile, then followed her.

Jimmy grappled me into as close to a hug as he would ever learn to do. "Be careful, punk," he said, his voice rough. "Don't make me have to come out there and bring you back home."

I really appreciated that, but I couldn't tell him why. "I won't."

Then suddenly I was alone with my parents, there in the house I was born in, and I could feel my throat close over with grief and panic. My mom knew, and she enfolded me in her embrace like she used to when I was so little. "Remember, Bradley," she whispered in a voice like weeping, "no matter what happens, you have a family that loves you."

"I'll never forget," I choked, trying not to break down and cry. I felt so lost, like when I tried to run away when I was five. She'd found me then and brought me home. I'd been trying to run from the dreams, thinking they were somehow tied to the house. But it wasn't the house that was haunted – it was me.

My father wrapped his arms around the both of us, and for one timeless moment we stood there, parents and child, and I said my last goodbye.

I carried my bags out to the car. I did not look back.

The ride to the airport was mostly silent. I watched the fields roll by outside the window and tried not to react to it.

A soft tickle behind my eyes made me scowl. It felt weird as anything, not the same as the file cabinet feeling but somehow nastier, like someone was getting their kicks off it. I pushed my glasses up and tried to think of other things. I didn't know if I could keep it from happening, but I could at least try to ignore it.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Herr Hansen's eyebrow arch upward, as if he had heard me. Then he turned to look out his window, and the weird feeling was gone.

At the airport, they did not leave me alone for a moment. We didn't have much time before our flight, but I'd never been in an airport before, and I couldn't help dawdling at the newsstand and the souvenir shop. I'd never really thought about Kentucky having souvenirs, not counting the horseraces, anyway. There was a little plastic keychain with a picture of a horse in a blue field; on impulse I bought it, along with a couple of packs of chewing gum. I'd heard that I might need that, to keep my ears from hurting.

Hansen's jaw tensed at my delay, but he said nothing.

When they told us we could board the plane, I felt my heart speed up. It looked narrow, like a pencil with wings. _Come on, Bradley,_ I told myself. _Don't let these guys know you're scared._ I took a deep breath and strode onto the plane, searching for my seat.

Behind me, Hansen's friend – I think he said his name was Olaf – asked if I wanted the window seat. "Most young people enjoy the window, though it is getting dark out. You could see the city lights."

"No, thank you," I said, hoping I sounded fine. "I want a clear line to the men's room, if you don't mind. I shouldn't have had that last Coke."

Neither of them argued with me, and for a moment I wondered if they'd follow me there, too. Then again, the door we passed with the bathroom sign on it looked really small, more like an escape hatch. I'd really have to go before I braved a door like that.

_Think of other stuff,_ I reminded myself. Sitting, I pulled my travel bag onto my lap and rummaged in it. My hands fell on the first book of that set my sister gave me. _That should work._

Like I so often would do, I found myself falling into the story with the first few lines. The cramped seats and stale air blew away with a desert wind, and my fear went with them. When the plane surged forward and up, pressing me back into my seat like a rocketship, I glanced past Olaf and out the window to see the ground fading to a blue-green blur. The blur sank into my head, and for a moment I could have sworn I was looking into someone's eyes, blue with a hint of green.

Then I felt that fuzzy touching feeling in my head again, and I dived back into my book.

When the plane bumped to the runway in New York, I looked up, startled and momentarily lost. _At least the story was engaging,_ I thought, _even if it did drag me in a little too far._

At least it kept Hansen out of my head.

I squashed that last thought as fast as I could. Maybe I was just getting paranoid, but under the circumstances I didn't think anyone would blame me for it.

I didn't like dog-earing the pages of a book, but I didn't have anything handy to use as a bookmark, and I didn't want to ask for one. I'd used my gum wrapper for the chewed up gum so the stewardess wouldn't have to worry about it. She looked tired, anyway.

We got off that plane and hurried across the terminal to our trans-Atlantic flight. They'd arranged it so I wouldn't have much time in between, probably so I wouldn't eat and then puke up on the plane. But I did have time for the men's room, and the need, so I excused myself, half wondering which one would follow me, or if they'd stand guard outside the main door.

They both followed me, but apparently for the same reason I was there in the first place. I felt really weird doing my business in front of them, so I locked myself in a stall and tried to pretend they weren't on the other side of the door.

Amazingly enough, I heard them flush the urinals and then turn on the sinks, then the electric hand dryers. Then, I was alone.

I'd already finished and zipped, so I just leaned back against the stall door and let it hold me up for a moment.

Visions flickered through my head. The anonymous gray walls of the bathroom melted into anonymous gray walls of a prison. An asylum?

No.

_Rosenkreuz._

I fought down a full-body shudder. It wasn't the "Rose Academy", I knew what it was now: it was Rosenkreuz, a place of gray walls and gray dreams, a place waiting to eat me alive.

"No," I whispered, "I can't know this right now." _This is taking too long,_ I thought, coming back to myself too slowly. Those guys were probably about to come in here and haul me out. I couldn't let that happen.

I shook free of the visions, grateful to be rid of them for the moment. It wasn't easy – they clung like an unanchored spiderweb. My hands were shaking as I washed them. I looked at myself in the mirror and saw a scared kid with messy hair and tilted eyeglasses looking back at me. Weirdly enough, I couldn't remember if I had brought a comb with me.

I checked through my pockets, but didn't find any comb. However, I did find a bookmark. My fingers touched on Gramma's present, and I took it out to look at it before my privacy ended.

"Great," I sighed. "It's religious." I started to crumple it up when I remembered what she'd said, and on the heels of that came the cold and echoing gray walls of my destination. Instead of tossing it aside, I stuffed it into my travel bag and hurried toward the door. At least I had a real bookmark, and something to remind me of Gramma.

_Until they take it away._

This thought hit me as I left the men's room, nearly knocking the wind clean out of me. Hansen's smile only confirmed it.

The plane that would take me over the sea was much wider than the other one, and for that I was grateful. They said it would be about a seven hour flight, and with the time difference that meant I'd be arriving early the next morning. Maybe I could sleep on the plane.

Then I remembered my traveling companions, and knew with sick certainty I would not want to be sleeping around them. As soon as I got to my seat, I dug into my travel bag and pulled out book and bookmark, then offered a game smile to Olaf. "I have some more things to read, if you want anything. And I've got gum, too, if you need it." I didn't know why, but it seemed important to be nice to him. The quick flash of anger on Hansen's face didn't surprise me in the least, though I wasn't really sure why.

"No, thank you," Olaf said, settling into his own seat and ignoring me.

At least I had an aisle seat, and only had to deal with one of them right next to me. Hansen, however, sat right behind, and again I got the feeling I didn't want to be caught asleep by him.

Stifling a yawn, I poured myself back into my book, into the desert and the chase.

I eventually dozed off, falling into weird and unfamiliar dreams. Someone was talking to me, asking me questions. I didn't want to answer, because they were kind of personal, but I could feel the answers blossoming out like crazy flowers, like I had no choice but to cooperate.

Some part of my mind dragged the rest of me awake, and I stretched and yawned and pretended nothing was wrong. My book and the little fabric marker were lying in my lap. I'd lost my place, but I remembered well enough where I was at. I never forgot stories I read, or what page I'd stopped on, but bookmarks were a civilized thing, and I wanted to remain a civilized young man for as long as possible. I marked my page, then got up and set the book in my seat.

On my way back from the men's room, I asked the hostess if I could have a cup of coffee. She smiled, no doubt thinking I was a little young for that, but gave me one anyway. It smelled vile, but Jimmy had said it got him through exams at school, and I desperately wanted to stay awake. The first sip was nasty bitter, but I swallowed it down and took another.

By the time I returned to my seat, I was actually starting to like it.

* * *

**A/N:**

_A gunslinger knows pride – that invisible bone that keeps the neck stiff._

The Dark Tower (Book One: The Gunslinger) – Stephen King

Claustrophobia and trans-Atlantic flights don't mix well. However, Bradley has figured out that to show weakness to his escorts would be fatal, so he does what any imaginative youth would do: he dives into his books, and you can rest assured that he's committing everything worthwhile to memory.

* * *

**Review Mailbag:**

**_Fayra_** – "Unusual, but perfectly right" could well describe the source of that line…****

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**_May_** – He's got chutzpah, that's for damn sure.****

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**_Mistress Of Anime_** – Happy? I'm frickin' dancing! grins maniacally Truth be told, there are moments in my writing that make ME cry, so I hope they translate to my readers just as powerfully.

And yes, grandmother, mother, and little Sarah all have the gift to varying degrees. Of the three, grandma has it strongest…but not as strong as Bradley.

A sad destiny, but a great one. If I may, a moment of Cruxshadows: "I will not run, it is my place to stand; we few shall carry hope within our bloodied hands." "Winter Born (This Sacrifice)"

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**_Shadowgirl_** – I really like his grandma too.****

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**_Skippys Cat_** – beams Very astute, my dear. Nurture that romantic nature of yours, it's quite wise.****

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**_Bladderwrack_** – Of course I have an explanation for that! Gluhen!Schuldig stole the hat from a drunken Shinichiro Miki at a yaoi convention.


	5. 04

**4**

_Welcome, my son…_

Morning cranked on toward noon, and I was having trouble staying alert. We'd arrived in Hamburg only to board another, much smaller jet heading south. I missed the name of the city, but I knew it was southward. And maybe a little further east. In any case, at least I was too tired to really care about the plane being small. My whole body buzzed with caffeine and tiredness, and my head felt really heavy. Maybe that would keep trespassers out, at any rate. Walking was a challenge, since I'd been sitting for so long already; my knees were kind of rubbery, and my feet were hurting cold. I'd never have guessed that airplanes could do that to a body.

My musing continued until we landed, apparently to stay landbound for the duration. Hansen directed me toward a sleek black car, not quite a limousine but not really that far from it. I got into the back seat, Olaf got in next to me, and to my unhappy surprise Hansen got in on the other side, effectively trapping me in between them. I could feel the sweat start under my arms. I concentrated on just breathing, keeping myself calm and still so they wouldn't notice.

"We shall be arriving at the Academy within the hour," Hansen informed me, his tone like frost – cold and sharp. "Once there, I shall bid you farewell, and good luck, Bradley Crawford. Due to the nature of your gift, you have been assigned a mentor and guardian to help you through your adjustment. You are to obey him without question, and learn much under his care. He is one of the best at what he does. You would do well to pay attention to him."

I nodded, in both senses of the term. Blinking, I forced myself to alertness. If only I had some of that overcooked airline coffee.

A chill passed by me, then seemed to settle inside. I found my gaze drawn to the left side window, and the first glimpse of my new home.

It looked like a fortress with high walls that hid everything within. We drove around the perimeter until we reached a break in the gray. The massive gate gleamed in the sunlight but gave no hint of warmth beyond it. I didn't know what I'd been expecting, but somehow this gate was not it – it wasn't iron or even bronze: it shone gunmetal blue.

I stared, transfixed, as it swung open, and the car progressed beyond it. I couldn't help but turn to look out the back window, to watch the slow, inexorable glide of it closing with a silent snap behind me.

I was truly locked within the haunted house now.

Olaf held the car door for me, and then retrieved my suitcase from the trunk. This time I allowed him to carry it; my arms felt too heavy as it was. I needed sleep, somewhere safe from nightmares, but I had my doubts as to whether I would find that here.

Hansen led me into the first building, and up. I was already quite lost, so I didn't bother trying to pay attention anymore. I just wanted the day to be over. I'd gone this long without good sleep before, but only once, and I didn't like it much.

Another turn, another hallway, and then Hansen stopped. I looked up. We were at a large wooden door with the number 613 on it. Hansen knocked.

There was a pause, then the door opened inward to reveal what looked like an apartment. Someone other than Hansen or Olaf spoke in German, and though I couldn't make out what he was saying I could tell he was pleased to see us. Then the door opened wider, inviting us inside, and I followed my escort through it.

Only then did I get a look at our host. He was a tall, strong-looking man, with pale gold hair and a handsome face. I didn't think he could be more than thirty. He was wearing some kind of military uniform, as though he'd gotten dressed up to receive us or something. All the way down to the crisp white gloves. And clearly he outranked Hansen and Olaf: even though they were older, they were deferring to him.

Then he turned to address me, an honest and pleasant smile on his face though he did not offer to shake my hand. "Welcome to Germany, Herr Crawford. I am General Schoenberg. You will be staying here for the first several days, until you get your bearings." He had one of those rich, practiced voices that sounded almost British, and he pronounced "general" with a hard "G", something I had only heard in movies.

"Thank you for your hospitality, sir," I replied. I found myself wondering if he was the kind of person who would look you in the eye, someone with more character than Hansen. Slowly I looked up. When I made eye contact, I wished I hadn't: blue eyes with just a hint of green gazed steadily into my own. My weary mind tried to throw visions at me, and I found myself staring.

His smile didn't change. "You are most welcome."

Before I could sink in any further, he turned away and dismissed Hansen and Olaf. They bowed and exited, Olaf with a tiny wave where Hansen wouldn't see it.

As the door whispered shut, my eyelids tried to do the same, slipping down with no regard for my intentions. I stumbled standing, a neat trick that only the extremely tired can manage to pull off.

"I had hoped you might sleep on the plane," the General said, his tone mild. "There is much to do before you can begin classes." He came over to me and gently put his hand on the middle of my back, pushing lightly. "But come, you're useless if you're sleeping on your feet," he chuckled, and he propelled me toward a door near the back of the room. "This used to be my office, but I've had it converted for you. There is a cot and a desk. For the next few weeks, this room is yours. I suggest you get some rest now, while you can. Things will be rather busy soon enough."

I was too tired to really care, so I let him guide me. The room was a little cramped, but not bad, and there was plenty of light. I set my carry-on down on the desk, then realized my suitcase was still over by the main door.

Before I could go back for it, Schoenberg returned with it in hand. I hadn't even noticed him leaving. Again he smiled, and again I found myself staring. I'd dreamed of eyes like his, blue with a hint of green. But no, this was wrong – those eyes were mischief and delight, but his were…grim. Still the color of laughter, but stained somehow.

He raised a slim pale eyebrow, and I realized I was frowning. I took my glasses off and wiped at my face. "I think I'll try that nap now," I murmured. "I hope I'm not inconveniencing you."

"No, it's fine," he replied, watching me more closely than I liked. I couldn't tell if he was doing that sifting through my mind thing, but it wouldn't have surprised me much if he had been. His eyebrow arched a little higher, and I wondered if that meant he'd heard that last thought. All of a sudden it was all I could do not to laugh: exhaustion had made me silly, but I couldn't afford to give in to it. Instead, I glanced meaningfully at the door, hoping he would take my hint and give me some privacy.

The General smiled a more gentle smile, and said, "I'll wake you for dinner. Sleep well, Bradley." Then he turned and strode from my room, pushing the door nearly shut behind him.

I debated whether I wanted to leave it ajar or close it entirely. Sudden fear of being locked in swelled up, and I decided to just leave it be. I wanted a shower, I wanted a meal, but I was so tired all that would have to wait. My travel clothes got dumped in a heap on the floor, my pajamas got dragged out of my suitcase, and I was pretty sure I was asleep before I even reached the bed.

* * *

**A/N:**

_Welcome my son…_

"Welcome to the Machine" – Pink Floyd _Wish You Were Here_

This…is darker than it looks. When Bradley compares Rosenkreuz to the haunted house, remember – once the door slams behind you, it usually doesn't open again until daybreak, or until everyone is dead…

* * *

**Review Mailbag:**

**_Shadowgirl_** – Oh, you'll get the heebie-jeebies when you read that book! It's so totally Brad Crawford, in so many creepy ways.

**_Skippys Cat_** – Exactly, why would they bother with pretense when they hold all the cards?

Wait till I post the artwork… grin

**_Tysoyo Kalli_** – He was a sweet kid then, sort of reminds me of a very unlucky Harry Potter – instead of an invitation to a really cool place, he gets basically kidnapped to the equivalent of a school for the Dark Arts.


	6. 05

**5**

_Welcome to the machine._

I opened my eyes to find myself in a dark and unfamiliar room, and for a moment I felt that flash of panic that made it feel like the walls were too close and getting closer. Then I woke the rest of the way up and remembered where I was. Blinking, I sat up in bed and reached for my glasses.

The room wasn't as dark as I'd expected: foggy light showed through a frosted glass window about the size of a skinny photo album, while brighter light glowed around the slightly open door. I switched on the overhead light and took a closer look at my new home.

The walls smelled vaguely of furniture polish. That's right, the General had said something about this having been his office, and I had passed a large desk in the main room on my way in. Now this was to be my room, complete with my own desk, chair, bed, and nightstand.

My bags were still where I'd dropped them, and nothing seemed to have been messed with while I slept. I rummaged through my stuff and found a fresh change of clothes, and my old wristwatch. I frowned; I didn't remember taking it off.

It occurred to me that I didn't know the local time. There wasn't a clock in the room, not even on the nightstand. I'd left my watch on Eastern Daylight Time, and looking at it made me suddenly, terribly homesick. I pushed that feeling away as best I could. I needed a shower, and food, and maybe then I'd feel a little more comfortable. It couldn't be as bad as I thought; I was just muddled from the trip, that was all.

I gathered up my nice slacks and a good shirt, and the proper underthings, and slowly tugged the door the rest of the way open.

Mahogany and brass gleamed before a wide picture window, the heavy curtains pulled back in an elegant sweep to either side. There was a faded patch on the carpet that looked the same size as my desk: the ghost of furniture past. The small desk had kept the company of a high bookshelf and had even had its own hanging lamp over it. I resisted the urge to survey the books present and instead turned to take in the rest of the room.

A brown leather sofa faced the window with a low table in between; a plush-looking armchair sat to the side. There was a low counter dividing the room from the kitchen, and in front of this counter sat a huge mahogany desk. I could tell it had been well taken care of: the color was rich and deep, and seemed to drink in the sunlight like a gemstone.

Seated at the massive desk was my host, head bent over some paperwork. An expensive-looking pen scratched across the papers. His left elbow was propped on the desk, his hand half-hidden in his white-gold hair. He must have been doing something important, because he seemed very intent on his work. That, or it was boring and he was trying to stay awake.

As if he felt me staring, he looked right up at me, then smiled. "Good morning, Bradley," he said. "Or, more properly, good afternoon. Are you hungry?"

"Yes, sir," I murmured, "but I think I'd like a shower first, if you don't mind."

"But of course." He set down his pen and rose from his seat. He showed me where he kept the towels, and which door led to the bathroom. It seemed familiar, like I'd sleepwalked there once already. "Take your time. When you're ready, there will be food waiting."

"Thank you, sir," I said, feeling suddenly awkward. I'd never showered anywhere but at home before; I was never good enough at sports to see the inside of a locker room.

The General smiled again, showing teeth. "Please, call me Konnor." Before I could say anything, he turned away and went back to his paperwork.

The bathroom was sparse and spotlessly clean. I set myself a mental reminder to wipe down the shower door when I was done. It seemed proper somehow.

As I stripped down, I got the nasty weird feeling that I was being watched. The little hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and I had the powerful urge to turn around real fast. I resisted that urge; in movies, whenever you gave in and checked behind you, the monster was never there but somewhere worse.

It occurred to me that I had no way of knowing if there were only the two of us in the suite. I did my best to act casual, but I made sure the bathroom door was locked.

The hot water struggled to beat some sense into my head, drumming against the lingering fog that seemed to stay with me and make everything a little blurry. It was kind of weird that I hadn't had any clear visions since waking, but kind of welcome, too. I figured that was what people called jet lag. The visions would be back when they pleased. It always happened that way.

After about ten minutes of just standing under the spray, I noticed that I was fairly hungry. My belly hurried me along and I finished my shower just as the water started to get cool. There was this little window-cleaner thing by the shower door, like the kind people use on their car windshields but smaller. _Well, it would probably work better than the towel,_ I thought, and wiped the shower door clear of water spots. _This guy must be some kind of neat freak._ Well, it was his home, after all, and I knew well enough to be polite in someone else's home.

Once I was dressed and feeling fairly presentable, I went back to my room and looked for a hairbrush. As I did my best to tame my hair, I debated whether I should put my shoes on or not. Then I recalled that my host was still in his uniform, shoes and all, so I figured it would be prudent to follow suit. When I finally had everything in order, I returned to the main room.

Konnor looked up from his desk again, then shuffled the papers together in one pile and set his pen on top. "I have something special for you, Bradley. Should help clear your head some." He strode to his kitchenette and pulled some things from the fridge. Then he came back out, set a plate on the coffee table, and handed me a bottle of Coke. He smiled as though this were something amazing.

Surprised and grateful, I smiled, too. "Thank you!" The little glass bottle was so cold it made my hand ache, and I knew it would taste just perfect. It was sealed with one of those twist-off metal caps; there was no graceful way to do it, so I just went ahead and used the tail of my shirt to grip the cap and twist, then tucked my shirt back right before taking a sip. It was wonderful, though it made me homesick again.

"Don't worry, I have more," Konnor said, seating himself in the armchair next to the sofa.

I felt fairly barbaric as I devoured my supper, but it had been hours upon hours since I'd eaten last, so I didn't feel too guilty about my lacking manners. Somehow it was the best ham and mustard sandwich I think I'd ever tasted. Once I was finished with the last crumbs, Konnor rose and retrieved his papers from the desk. He fanned them out on the coffee table in front of me, sliding the empty plate out of the way.

"I've been working on your schedule, Bradley," he stated as he sat down next to me on the sofa. "I'm going to be your mentor, and as such you will report to me in all circumstances. If you need help in a class, or if you find one too easy, you must let me know at once. I can arrange for tutors or advance placement, as you need it." His eyes smiled as he said, "I want you to do well here, Bradley. In all things."

I picked up the papers and looked them over. A feeling of unrealness flowed over me as I did so. I'd only ever seen classes about history and geography and math and such. I don't know what I'd been expecting here, but the fact of it left me a little stunned. German language classes, political history, trigonometry, basic physics, tactical theory, "basic psi theory", and "specialized training" – no fluff classes, that was for sure! No art, no phys-ed, not even wood shop or sewing. This was high school and college level stuff, and then there was that "specialized training". I looked up at my "mentor", the questions no doubt clear in my eyes.

"Traditional schooling has suited you well, Bradley. I was quite impressed with your marks. Here there are a few basics you will need, then we will evaluate you for your specialized work." Konnor reached over to take the papers from me, plucking them delicately from my hand. He looked through them, then handed one back to me. "We operate in four-month terms here. First you will need a basic understanding of the German language. We have a very intensive linguistics program here; by the end of your first term, you will be chatting like a native." He smiled again, as though this thought amused him. "Though, we will have to work on that accent. It will make pronunciation difficult for you in the long run."

My face grew hot. All my life, I'd been around people who sounded more or less like me. Now I was in the middle of a movie set, where everyone sounded like a trained actor trying not to sound like anything at all. I sighed and nodded. "Yes, sir."

My host touched my wrist. I looked up. He smiled and said, "Do call me Konnor, Bradley, when we are alone together. In public, however, you will address me as Herr General or Herr Schoenberg, never 'sir' and never 'mister'. Sprich nur auf Deutsch, Bradley. Speak only in German."

I remembered something I'd heard in a movie once, and I tried it out loud. "Jawohl, Herr General!" I made sure to pronounce "general" the way he had, with the hard "G" and emphasis at the end of the word. It felt weird in my mouth, but at the same time it sounded oddly elegant.

Konnor blinked, then laughed. "That's exactly right! But we do need to work on that accent."

I fought down the urge to ask him _'we' who?_ It was pretty obvious that even Konnor had had voice lessons. His English was a little stiff, but I couldn't tell just by listening to him where he might have been from, exactly. I figured that was the whole point. "I'll try, sir – Konnor."

He smiled again, a more relaxed smile that made his eyes bright. "You'll do just fine, Bradley." Then he looked at his watch and seemed to make a quick decision. "Tell you what, it's still the dinner hour, so there won't be much traffic. How would you like a private tour?"

The cola had woken me up, and the sandwich had settled my stomach. Given the choice between looking over more paperwork and taking a walk, I picked the walk. Konnor put the plate and the empty bottle back in the kitchen before joining me at the door.

"One thing, and it's important, Bradley," he said, taking his gloves out of a pocket and tugging them on with crisp precision. "Talk to no one unless you are addressed directly. Allow me to answer for you. If you must speak, keep your answers short. A simple 'yes' or 'no' will usually suffice, until you understand the language."

I nodded, suddenly not looking forward to this tour anymore. This was a different world from anyplace I'd ever thought I'd be, and its rules seemed dangerous.

Konnor opened the door and I followed him out of the safety of his apartment and into the halls of Rosenkreuz.

I tried to pay attention to where we were, but once we left his building I got all turned around. It was like the place didn't want to be figured out. The hallways all looked alike, except for the occasional tiny door marker about the size of a return address label. And those didn't help any: the letters and numbers didn't seem to follow any sequence from one to the next.

My guide kept up a brisk pace, pausing occasionally to tell me about this class or that wing. The "campus" itself, he said, consisted of seven main buildings and several outdoor arenas. The main buildings housed teachers, staff, and students, and held the dozens of traditional classrooms within their mazelike halls. There was one building he pointed out from a distance as he informed me we would not be touring that part of the facility just yet. Something about the way he said that made me grateful I didn't have to go in there.

Suddenly I reeled, nearly toppling into Konnor as a vision came over me, a violently fast glimpse of me being carried into that building on a day of no sun. Time slithered through me, leaving me unanchored.

"Are you all right?" Konnor asked, gripping my shoulder tightly.

"Y-yes, I mean jawohl, Herr General," I whispered, feeling suddenly nauseous. I wanted to ask him what that building was, and I wanted never to know the answer.

"We'll get you into training to see if you can tame those visions a bit," Konnor said, releasing me as I got my balance back. "I've made arrangements with one of our best. Her Sight obeys her commands. Perhaps you will find similar luck with yours."

We entered one of the class buildings, and the awful pressure against my sense of time vanished almost immediately. It was like walking through one of those air curtains in a restaurant, where things are clearer on the other side. I wondered if they had some way to keep my gift from working right; I didn't much like that idea. As nasty as that last vision had been, the thought of my gift abandoning me at someone else's whim didn't set well at all.

The classrooms looked pretty normal, with desks of appropriate size for the age of the students and the number of chalkboards giving away how hard the subject was. Konnor showed me the room they used for advanced physics, and I guessed right off that was what it was for just by the eraser marks on the three huge boards and the smell of pencil shavings coming from the trash can. Either that, or some kind of hard science class, but there was no lab counter or sink, so it had to be math or physics.

I realized my mind was wandering and hurried to rein it in. I didn't think it was a good idea to let it roam about loose in a place like this.

Konnor turned and gave me an odd, amused look, then asked if I was getting tired again.

"No, sir," I yawned. "My head just feels thick, is all."

He scowled a little, then reached out and gently pushed my bangs back from my face. I blinked, not noticing that I'd had hair in my eyes until it was gone. Konnor shook his head and smiled. "The only way to get over jet lag is to adopt the local clock. Have you set your watch yet?"

"No, sir," I mumbled, reluctant to give up that link to home.

Konnor checked his own watch, pushing his sleeve back with a graceful hand. "It is now…6:43." Clearly he expected me to set my watch by his, so I did, running it a little ahead to make up for my delay in following his lead. He corrected the date for me, and I thanked him for that. I didn't want to go losing track of time here.

As we continued on our tour, General Schoenberg smiled and nodded to the other teachers, and students stepped briskly out of our way. I stared a little, as I'd never been in a school with uniforms before. I'd heard about them, of course, but the public schools in Kentucky didn't bother with that. Besides, regular schools probably didn't have uniforms that looked quite so soldier-like. These seemed very stiff, with one of those jackets with the double row of buttons and a high collar. I noticed that some of the students wore red trim, while others had blue. I couldn't figure the difference, and made a note to ask Konnor about it later. The jacket itself seemed to come in two shades, too. The bigger boys wore a light grey, the younger wore dark.

The teachers and staff wore expensive-looking suits, all dark blues and black; the only one in a uniform was General Schoenberg.

I swallowed, realizing that I hadn't seen any girls here. I'd been brought up to see boys and girls as pretty much equal, except boys were usually better at football. I hadn't realized that this was one of those boys-only places, though it probably said as much in the literature Herr Hansen had given me. It seemed very strange to me to bother separating kids like that, but I figured there must be a reason for it. Just another thing to ask about later, I supposed.

We'd gone into another of the buildings, and I found myself studying the marble pattern on the tiles the way I used to look for pictures in the clouds. When Konnor stopped suddenly, I almost ran into him. His back went stiff, and then I heard his voice talking right into my head. :Stay here. Do not seem curious.: He fidgeted with his gloves as if to make sure they were still on, then strode ahead down the hall.

A man had stepped out of a doorway and turned toward us as if he'd been waiting. I couldn't see him clearly, he was just too far away and the light was wrong. Remembering Konnor's order, I tried to look unconcerned as I stood at my best approximation of parade rest.

This man's voice carried, a deep and raspy grumble of sound that reminded me of cigars and cheap whiskey. I couldn't understand him, as he spoke in German, but his tone made it sound nasty. It made my hackles go up, and it was all I could do not to shudder. Something about him set me all on edge; suddenly I knew I didn't ever want to See any visions he might inspire.

Konnor looked tense enough to snap as he turned toward me and gestured for me to join them. My feet carried me forward, though my heart was trying to fly loose from my ribs. For some reason I was crazy scared of this man, and I knew I didn't dare let him see that.

He wasn't as tall as Herr Schoenberg, and he certainly wasn't as pleasant to look at. This man seemed permanently old, as if he'd been bewitched as a child. He was probably only in his forties, maybe not even that, but he looked older, badly worn somehow. His hair was steely gray all the way through to his eyebrows, which were shaggy and wild looking. He had that hooked kind of nose that actors who played Russian spies tended to have, with large oily pores and a fine spray of red veins at the tip. His mouth seemed to know only two expressions: a murderous frown, or an arrogant sneer. Right now it was trying to smile, but the eyes told me different. Those eyes weren't old at all. They were young and deadly, burning with an inner power that would keep them fresh for decades beyond their time.

They were torturer's eyes.

I swallowed.

"Herr Crawford, I presume?" the man asked, but not of me. He glanced at me only enough for me to see those eyes, then turned back toward Konnor as if I weren't even there. His English sounded thick on his tongue, and I got the impression he didn't want me knowing what he was talking about anyway. He said something else in German, pausing in the middle to look me up and down like a side of beef; I felt my face go red, but I couldn't understand exactly why.

Then this other man switched back to English, though he was still talking to Herr Schoenberg and not to me. "Shall you introduce us properly, Kort old man?"

Konnor lightly gripped my shoulder and cleared his throat. "Bradley, this is Herr Sonndheim." Konnor wasn't looking at me as he spoke; instead, his eyes were fixed on my new acquaintance. "He is one of our chief administrators."

Sonndheim smiled, his eyes full of secrets. "Always a pleasure to meet one of Schoenberg's boys. Good evening, Bradley Crawford."

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving me feeling somehow dirty and Konnor looking utterly furious.

"Come on," Konnor snarled, giving me a harsh glare that I knew wasn't really meant for me at all. I followed, trying all the while to ignore that monster-behind-the-left-shoulder feeling.

When we reached his apartment, Konnor neatly shut and bolted the door behind us, then yanked off his gloves, threw them on the desk, stormed into the bathroom, and slammed the door. I could hear the water running full blast, though he hadn't turned on the light.

I sighed and slipped into my bedroom. The tour – no, that man, Sonndheim – had left me feeling all off-stride. I wanted something, anything, to just make me feel normal again.

I tugged the door nearly shut, then flopped onto the bed with my books and tried to get my head back into the story. When I picked up the book I'd been reading on the plane, something fell out of it. That's right, I'd finished the first book and left the bookmark tucked into the back cover. I lifted the little strip of cloth and looked at it, then really read it for the first time. It was a religious poem, about footprints in the sand. Something so totally Gramma it made my chest hurt. I swallowed and tried not to cry. She said it would give me comfort, but I didn't believe in her god.

All it gave me was a sense of what I'd lost.

I wrapped myself around my pillow and sobbed. I couldn't help it, the tears just came and came and it felt like they'd never stop. I missed my family, I missed my world, and I'd just had a hell of a welcome into my new life. What's that saying about a brave new world, that has such people in it? _If it's all the same, they can count me out._

A soft knock sounded at my door. "Bradley, are you all right?"

I choked back the sobs and whimpered, "Yes, sir. I'm sorry, I guess I'm just homesick."

The door opened and Konnor came in. He rested his hand on my shoulder like my brother used to do. "There's no shame in that, Bradley." Then he sat down on the bed and helped me up so I was sitting next to him. He looked into my eyes as he gently brushed my hair back from my face again. His fingers were warm. "Tears will pass in time. Don't be ashamed of them, but do try to keep them within this apartment."

I nodded. His hand slipped a little, accidentally cupping my face for a moment. I backed away, not wanting him to feel awkward about it.

Konnor's hand seemed to linger of its own accord, ending up on my shoulder again as I moved. He cleared his throat. "Now. First lesson," he said softly. "Never apologize. For anything. No matter what it is for, or to whom. You are above such things, Bradley. Apologies are for…other men than we. Understood?"

I'd been brought up to believe that apologies were a part of being civilized. That real men knew how to take responsibility for their actions toward others. If this was the first lesson, I wasn't looking forward to the next.

I heard my own voice, giving him the only answer he would accept.

"Yes, sir."

* * *

**A/N:**

_Welcome to the machine._

(Continued…)

A glimpse of Rosenkreuz through young Brad Crawford's non-20/20 eyes. It's a confusing place, with strange customs and rules. The mix of familiarity and formality is dizzying, leaving one to wonder who are friends, and who are foes. Brave new world, indeed.

Note about names:

Konnor and Kort are both traditional nicknames for Konrad, though all are more commonly found with a "C".

* * *

**Review Mailbag:**

**_Eternal-Darkness_** – You're welcome. I like creeping people out. You should watch "Ju-on"…****

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**_Shadowgirl_** – So…did you like your book?****

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**_Bladderwrack_** – Not odd; I'm glad you noticed.

Control of self and control of a phobia aren't the same thing, after all. He can't stop it, but if he's lucky he can stop it from showing.****

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**_Tysoyo Kalli_** – Define "fun influence". twitch****

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**_Skippys Cat_** – I liked your question about if Esset was ever different or if it always strove for world dominance. In my world, it's got links to medieval brotherhoods and orders of knighthood. Try Googling "rose cross" and see what you get. It's…interesting.****


	7. 06

**6**

_All in all you're just another brick in the wall_

The next morning, Konnor came to my door and woke me up at quarter to six, and told me this would be my get-up time from now on. He gave me fifteen minutes to get dressed and ready to go.

"Normally there would be breakfast," he said, "but this morning you have your physical, and they will be doing some tests. I'll get you something to eat after you're done there."

Konnor set a brisk pace as he led me to the Intake Center. The building was on the outer edge of the complex, near the main gates. It looked like any other small office building in the world, bland and squat and kind of boring, except it didn't have a lot of windows. Konnor opened the door for me and ushered me inside.

The hall was crowded with people bustling from one door to the next. Some of the people wore lab coats or scrubs like in a hospital, while others wore the gray jackets that meant they were students like I was going to be. A few wore normal clothes; these looked the most nervous.

As if he'd done this lots of times, Konnor escorted me right to a small waiting room. There were a couple of students sitting passively on the hard plastic chairs, and one fellow doing paperwork at the front desk. Konnor spoke with him a little, then the guy nodded and handed me a clipboard and a pencil.

"Your medical history," the secretary said, his accent kind of thick but not so much I couldn't understand him. "Pay special attention to the 'Allergies' and 'Psychological' sections."

I looked at the forms. At least they were in English. I scribbled down how I'd had measles when I was four, and chicken pox at six. The doctors had thought I had asthma once, but it was because I was claustrophobic; I didn't write that part down. I wracked my brain to remember whatever I could that might be relevant, from my uncle's heart attack to my gramma's arthritis.

A door opened, and a young guy in a lab coat like an intern gestured for me to follow him. He led me down a short hall and into one of those examination rooms that was all white and chrome and smelled like antiseptic.

"Take off your clothes and fold them neatly. You will wear this until your intake is completed. Place any jewelry or other personals in the bag," he directed, setting a wad of fabric and a plastic baggie on the table before leaving through another door.

I set the clipboard down on the counter and tugged off my shoes and pants. The rest of my clothes joined them in a pile, and I slipped the flimsy little shirt on. It barely covered my modesty, though at least it tied on the side and not in back. Catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I almost laughed out loud: I looked like some kind of demented Roman soldier, in a striped toga held together by shoelaces.

I set about folding my clothes like the guy had said. I didn't wear jewelry or the like, just my glasses and my watch. Since I was blind as a bat without my glasses and I never went anywhere without my watch, I decided not to take those off unless he told me to directly.

The second door opened and the intern guy came back in, followed by an older man in a long lab coat with a stethoscope draped across his neck.

"Guten Tag, Herr Crawford," the doctor said with a little bow. The stethoscope didn't move. "We'll need to take some specimens today. Devin will assist with that after we're done here." Then the doctor went over to the counter and pulled out these latex gloves, and my throat tightened. I'd heard jokes about exams like that, things that grown men had to put up with at the doctor's, only I wasn't a grown man and this wasn't a joke.

For the next fifteen minutes or so, I was poked, probed, groped, and manhandled within an inch of my patience. The doctor seemed to be enjoying himself at my expense, while Devin looked on with that professionally bored manner only the really good nurses seemed to have.

"Everything looks just fine," the doctor informed me, his eyes lingering south of where they should have been. "You're quite the healthy boy, aren't you?"

"I try, sir." My face burned with shame. When he'd been touching me, my body decided to play a little joke, getting all warm and heavy feeling down there. I'd never been so embarrassed in my life. And something about the way his breath had caught while he did his exam made me want to puke. I'd heard of men like that, of course, but never in my life had I thought I'd run afoul of one.

My brother Jimmy would have punked him in the parking lot. I bit back the swell of emotion, remembering what Konnor had said about keeping tears inside the apartment. All of a sudden that seemed like real good advice.

The doctor left, and another guy came in with a tray of vials and needles. I sighed and sat on the table before they told me to, then held my left arm out for their convenience. I'd done this before, but when the needle hit I nearly jumped out of my skin. This guy wasn't even trying to be gentle, he just stabbed it on in there like a cook with a meat thermometer.

My heartbeat thundered in my head, heat and pain welled up from my arm, and the next thing I knew that Devin fellow was waving an ammonia capsule under my nose. I gagged and choked in a breath. My arm was already bandaged and folded up to make it clot; I hadn't even been aware of them taking the needle back out.

The other guy was gone, and so was the tray. I wondered just how much blood they took while I was unawares.

"Bring your effects and follow me," Devin ordered, opening the second door. He escorted me to a little bathroom, told me to put my things on the shelf outside, and handed me a plastic cup. My arm was beginning to throb now, and I figured I'd have a nasty bruise later on. But at least this part of the process wasn't invasive; I did what I had to do, and managed to do it without embarrassing myself. I washed my hands anyway before picking up my clothes and letting Devin drag me to the next event.

"Your glasses." Devin held his hand out for them, and I grudgingly took them off. Everything close up turned into one big fuzzy blur. I handed the glasses to the nearest large white blob, pretty sure that one was Devin.

The guy let out a low whistle. "How long have you had this prescription?"

"About…ten months," I told him, trying to remember.

"How often do you need new? Are they stronger lenses each time, or less strong?"

"I get new once a year, ever since I was six," I told him. "I don't know if they're stronger, I just know that if I don't get new glasses I start to get headaches."

I could hear him doing something but had no idea what. Then he shined a little pen-light into my eyes without any warning. I flinched.

"Hold still." He flashed the light into one eye, then the other. Then I heard him scribbling notes on a clipboard. "Here, you get to keep these for a while," he said, handing me my glasses. "I'll arrange for a thorough eye exam. Our specialist comes in twice a month; I want him to take a look at you. We will notify your mentor of the appointment time."

I put my glasses on and the world swam back into focus. I had to blink a couple of times before everything got right, and Devin was already herding me toward another room. He made me take the glasses off again, and this time he said, "Watch, too." Grudgingly I did so, though I didn't put it in the baggie: something about that made me think I wouldn't get it back, so I kept it out in the hopes I could nab it when the exam was over. He told me to set everything down on the shelf across from the door. Then he double checked his clipboard before setting it down on the shelf, along with his own pen and wristwatch.

He guided me through the door. I watched the blurs of my legs move, since nothing closer than fifteen feet would come in clear anyway. The room sounded big, with the hollow echo that large, empty rooms seem to have, and the floor was cold. When I looked up, my feet stopped on their own. This room held only one piece of equipment, one huge piece of equipment, and my chest tightened up at the sight of it. Without even thinking, I started to back up.

Devin's hand stopped me, pressing flat against my spine. He looked at me sharply. "It's standard procedure. We need a baseline MRI for your files."

I shook my head. I couldn't go into that thing.

When I'd started having dizzy spells at school from the visions coming on, my father had taken me to a special hospital to make sure nothing was wrong. He didn't quite believe in the Sight, in spite of his wife and mother-in-law both having it. I guess he never expected to pass it along, especially to a boy. But when they'd tried to put me in one of those MRI tubes, I'd started screaming before I even got halfway in. They couldn't knock me out, because they needed to see what my awake brain was up to, and they couldn't make me stay on the table without strapping me down. My father wouldn't let them do that to me, so he cancelled and took me home.

My father wasn't here now.

"_What's happening? Brad, can you hear me?"_

"_He's going into shock. Please, sir, sit over there and let me work!"_

"_Schuldig, come on, sit with me. All we can do now is wait."_

My chest hurt. I felt like I couldn't breathe, like I was deep underwater without an air tank. I couldn't stop staring at the machine, the huge, crushing machine with the small chamber in the middle of it. The small chamber this guy wanted to stuff me into.

Devin touched a switch on the wall and spoke quietly into the plastic grid. To me he said, "Don't worry, we'll get this over with as quickly as possible."

The door opened and all of a sudden I felt like I was asleep. Like I was asleep, and floating. Someone was holding my hand, or my wrist, like feeling for a pulse. I heard voices that sounded like they were coming through a wall of jelly.

Then I was waking up on one of those wheeled hospital cots, the kind they use to move people around. I was parked in the hall next to the shelves where my clothes and all sat.

Devin offered me a cup of juice. "You've passed out on us twice now. Did you leave anything out of your medical history?"

I shook my head. I was starting to remember a very weird dream, only part of my head insisted it wasn't a dream at all. It was like those stories you hear about alien abduction, where the people can't remember it clearly but know something happened to them all the same.

Devin made some more notes on his clipboard, and told me they'd schedule a dental exam in about two months, since my teeth looked fine just now. I didn't remember my teeth getting x-rayed or even looked at, but then again I hadn't been awake all the time. And I was starting to doubt the usefulness of being awake here anyhow: they seemed to have ways of getting around that.

We headed back the way we had come. One of the guys from the waiting room stumbled out of a doorway ahead of us. His shoulder was all bandaged, his arm in a sling. He had his jacket half on and a blue t-shirt in his hands. He didn't look so good. A momentary flash of the Sight showed me the same kid a little later on, going after the boys who'd wrecked his arm. Going after them with a gun. I shook my head, not wanting to See this.

Devin opened yet another door, and this one led back to the first office. I heaved a sigh of relief, not caring that I was walking into a room full of strangers while I was wearing nothing more than a pillowcase: at least the exam was over. Konnor was talking with the secretary again; both of them looked up when we came into the room.

"We're done with this one," Devin announced, a faint smile making it sound a little less nasty. He put his hand on my shoulder for a moment and said, "If the lab finds anything, they will notify your mentor. Get some food as soon as you're outfitted, all right?"

I nodded, and Devin gestured at one of the other waiting students to follow him back into the maze of rooms and hallways.

Konnor appeared at my side. "Here, let me take that," he said, relieving me of my bundle of clothes. "We have a couple more stops to make before breakfast." He guided me out the door and down the hall as though I weren't barefoot and wearing a hospital gown.

When I saw our next destination, I had to agree that getting dressed would have been kind of pointless. This barber looked like he'd get hair down my clothes out of spite. I didn't think I needed much of a trim, as my hair was already summer-short, but he buzzed away and bits of black fluff drifted to the floor like soot.

By the time he was done, there was quite a pile of black hair on the floor. I fumbled the hem of my hospital shirt down a little further as I slid from the chair. Distantly I mumbled a polite thank-you to the barber, then followed Konnor to yet another door.

A short man with a tape measure and sharp eyes studied me a moment, then set a pile of gray and blue on the counter. He nudged a foot-measure toward me, and I stepped on it. He frowned, then went behind the counter and through a narrow door.

The man returned with a pair of shoes and gestured me toward a fitting booth. I took the clothes and shoes and slunk into the little room. Fortunately for me, it had one of those saloon-type doors that didn't reach the floor and had little slats in it; if it had been a solid door, the fitting room would have been small enough to throw me into a right state.

I used the flimsy hospital shirt to wipe hair off the back of my neck before trying on my new uniform.

Simple white underwear and gray gym socks, black trousers that felt like they had some wool in them, slip-on black sneakers – the fitting guy was good, they all went on like they were made for me. I didn't care for the t-shirt so much: besides being just the wrong shade of blue, it was a little too close-fitting for my taste, especially around the neck. I tugged at the collar until it felt a little better. The jacket was one of those double-breasted types, with a high straight collar and two rows of black buttons. It looked stiff, like some kind of canvas, with royal blue trim along the seams. I looked down and noticed that the pants had blue stripes, too. I sighed, then shrugged into the jacket and set about working the buttons through their unyielding holes.

When I was done, I put my glasses back on and looked at my reflection. The uniform felt kind of tight but I had to admit, it looked pretty sharp in the mirror. I looked older, with the neatly trimmed hair and high-collared jacket. I hardly looked like me at all.

I flexed the toes of my shoes a couple of times, checked to make sure I could sit comfortably enough in the trousers, then opened the door. Something about the cut of the uniform made me stand taller – not like I ever slouched or anything, but I did notice a difference in the way it made me walk.

Konnor seemed to approve of what he saw. He smiled at me and said, "Here Bradley, you'll be wanting this." He plucked my watch off the pile and handed it to me.

"Oh, thank you!" I murmured. Even fully covered in this uniform, I felt naked without it. The uniform-fitter scowled a little, but Konnor watched me with a proud look on his face as I fastened the battered old watch around my wrist.

"Come, let's get you fed." Konnor put a gloved hand on my shoulder and steered me toward the door.

He led me to one of the long, low buildings that crossed the courtyard like an old scar. When the door opened, I could smell food, and my stomach growled. I looked at my watch: 8 o'clock.

I helped myself to a tray and accepted the plates of food with a mumbled "thank you" that made the servers smile a little. Guess they could tell I was new. The food smelled better than it looked, and that didn't bode well for the taste. I tried not to stare at my tray as I followed Konnor to an empty table along the back of the room. He only had a small cup of coffee, leaving me to brave the pile of scrambled eggs alone.

The eggs had that weird rubbery texture like food kept under the warming lamp too long, and the juice was mostly water. But I was too hungry to care. My arm still hurt from being harpooned, and I felt kind of weak from going without food all morning. I devoured what was on my plate and debated asking if I could have seconds.

"Students receive set rations, determined by the needs of their gift and their growth," Konnor said, effectively answering that question. Then he leaned closer and whispered, "If you're still hungry, I do have a kitchen."

A shadow fell across the table, and for one queasy second I was afraid it was Sonndheim. Then I glanced up to see a young brown-haired man wearing a dark blue suit. "Ah, so this must be the young man everyone is talking about." His voice sounded British and kind of, well, fruity.

"Shelley! Good to see you!" Konnor rose from his seat and shook the guy's hand, then gestured at the table. "Are you joining us?"

"No, can't stay, I'm afraid," Shelley said. "Just saw you here with an unfamiliar face and thought I'd barge in."

"Ah, curiosity," Konnor said with a tight smile. "So everyone's talking, are they? _Was sagen sie?_"

"_Zu viel, Konnie, zu viel._ Yes, word has quite gotten around," Shelley replied. He checked his watch. "We'll have to catch up later." He smiled at me and said, "Welcome to Rosenkreuz, Mister Crawford."

"Shel, you rotter," Konnor whispered, shaking his head. Then he sighed and said, "We need to finish your tour, Bradley. Today you will see much more of the facility, especially the areas where you will be attending classes. Are you ready?"

"Jawohl, Herr General."

Once more he led me outside, through the courtyard, and into one of the class buildings. The rooms we passed had small windows in the doors, and I could see from one to two dozen boys inside each one. They all wore dark gray, like me, but some had blue trim and others had red. There was even one with green. Keeping my voice low and respectful, I asked, "What do the different colors mean, Herr General?"

"They denote what form of mental talent you have," he replied. "Sort of a visual shorthand. Yours is blue because your gift is of the mental variety, not directly touching the solid world."

"Oh." His answer didn't really help me much, but I nodded anyway.

We peeked into a few more classrooms, and got caught in the sudden traffic when the class hour ended and students poured into the hallway. They steered clear of us, though they all seemed to pause and look. The kids in blue seemed kind of meek, while the ones in red had more stomp to their stride. Then again, most of the blue-shirts I saw had the dark gray coats; I'd already figured out that meant they were younger students, like myself. I didn't see any more of the green.

Konnor pointed out where my classes would be, and described what I'd be learning in each one. I felt a little overwhelmed; I was tired, and it was getting hard to concentrate. I just smiled and nodded a lot and hoped the tour would be over soon.

By the time we returned to Konnor's office late in the afternoon, I was starving again. He offered me another Coke along with some aspirin. I hadn't really registered the dull headache until he did that, but then it started pulsing behind my eyeballs. My hand shook a little as I washed down the medicine.

He set about making sandwiches, and I noticed that he'd taken off his gloves and unbuttoned the collar of his jacket, but other than that he stayed as formally dressed as before. I fidgeted a little, wanting to get out of the stiff uniform but not sure if I was supposed to. "Um, Herr General, sir?"

He gave me a mock scowl. "It's Konnor, remember? What is it?"

My face went hot. I almost apologized, then remembered "lesson one". "Konnor. Do I have to keep my coat on when I'm in the apartment?"

"Ah, that would be a case of 'do as I say, not as I do,' Bradley. By all means, be comfortable here."

"Thank you," I murmured, and struggled out of the jacket. The stiff fabric resisted my efforts. Make the sleeves a little longer and add some buckles, and…well, it didn't seem very right to be thinking about it like that, I told myself. It's just a coat. I folded the jacket neatly and carried it to my room.

My room. When had I started thinking of it like that? I sat on the bed and sighed at myself. Then a vision rolled up and over me, showing me my things all packed away in a box, out of my reach forever. I knew what Konnor would tell me, though I couldn't pinpoint when: "It is standard procedure, your belongings will be stored until graduation. Students must not be distracted by personal things here: it goes counter to the training."

"Let go. I don't want to See you," I muttered at the future, never sure if it was listening. Already I'd lost my hair style and about a pint of blood, and now I knew for sure I was about to lose everything I'd brought with me. I hoped my Ma hadn't paid too much for the phone card.

The vision turned queasy with that sideways vertigo thing it sometimes did. Half doubled over, I hurried to the bathroom.

Once inside, I leaned against the door and tried to get a grip on myself. The vision released its hold, and my stomach settled back into place a notch at a time. I set my glasses on the counter and turned on the water, then washed my face until I didn't feel quite so unreal.

I caught sight of myself in the mirror: a frightened, lonely twelve year old kid in a tight blue t-shirt with a wad of cotton taped to his arm. Trying to anchor myself to the present time, I picked at the tape, peeling it off with a pained hiss. Oh, it had bruised all right – halfway down to my wrist.

I wet down my hair and ran my fingers through it, begging the remains of my headache to just leave peaceably. As it faded, my stomach started growling again. Finally more hungry than miserable, I rejoined Konnor in the living room.

"Are you feeling all right, Bradley?" he asked, bringing two plates to the coffee table as I flopped onto the sofa.

"Yes, sir. Konnor. Just the headache taking its time leaving, I guess. That and the visions," I told him, wanting to be as honest as possible. I still had the feeling that people here would know if I lied or just didn't tell the whole truth, and that wouldn't be a good thing. Besides, my ma didn't raise me up to be a fibber.

"You should eat something. You look a little…" His voice trailed off, and I could see his jaw clench. "Pale."

Somehow I knew not to ask. I picked up my plate and started in on the sandwich.

Konnor seemed to have lost his appetite. He got up and strode to his bookshelves as if looking for a good read. His lunch lay abandoned on its plate. "Help yourself to another sandwich, if you want it," he murmured. He picked a couple of books from the shelves and set them on the coffee table in front of me. "Read the first chapter or two this evening. It will give you a head-start for tomorrow." Then Konnor turned from the bookshelf and headed toward his desk.

I thumbed through the smaller of the books. It was like a history text, but it was all wrong. The good guys and the bad guys were all jumbled up, and nothing matched what I knew to be true. Then I recalled this line I'd read somewhere, about history being written by the conquerors, and I couldn't help but wonder if anything written anywhere was really right. Then I started really reading it, and before I knew it Konnor was telling me to get ready for dinner.

My suppertime was at seven, with "the late crowd" as Konnor put it. We went to the dining hall again, and this time it was really crowded. I hadn't imagined this many students here: there didn't seem to be enough room in all the buildings for so many people. The students sat in clusters, mostly grouped according to the color of their jackets and their shirts: light gray stayed with light, dark with dark, while red and blue and green simply didn't mix. I still didn't know what the colors meant, but they did seem to stick with their own.

The headache started flaring up again, and I winced. I made it through my meal, but only just. The "meat" reminded me of those chicken nuggets that are all ground up and pressed into little molds, only I never found a tough bit or piece of gristle like one normally would, if it were really chicken. The bread was tough and bitter, and the "vegetable side" was more like a casserole of leftover greens than anything recognizable. The best part was the small chunk of hard cheese, though it tasted a little sour. They'd given me the choice of juice or coffee, and I'd picked the coffee; now I wished I'd gone with the juice. Their idea of coffee reminded me of nothing so much as water a kid used to rinse out a paintbrush.

I finally gave up on my food. Maybe Konnor would give me another sandwich. I sighed and looked around the room the way I used to look around my school cafeteria, searching for a familiar face. No surprise, I didn't find any.

When we left the dining hall this time we went right back to Konnor's apartment. By then I decided not to bother asking about more food. I was all wrung out, and really only wanted to go to sleep. I managed to get my jacket off a little easier this time, as though the fabric were starting to soften up a bit. The bruising on my left arm looked awful, and I noticed a small cluster of dots along the inside bend of my elbow. Jeez, how many times had that jerk stabbed me, anyway? I counted seven for sure.

Konnor followed me to the door of my room. "By the way, Bradley, while you have the chance tonight I need you to pack up the things you brought in with you. I'll arrange for their safe storage."

I felt dizzy again, and sat down hard on the bed.

Konnor sat next to me and put a hand on my shoulder. "It is standard procedure," he explained, his voice gentle. "Your belongings will be stored until graduation. Students must not be distracted by personal things here: it goes counter to the training."

"I understand," I whispered, my mouth feeling like it was full of cotton.

An unexpected touch on my cheek made me turn to look at him. His eyes were kind, his expression almost sad. He licked his lips as if they were dry, then murmured, "I noticed you brought some books with you, Bradley. They don't have to be stored. If you like, I could stash them here for you."

My mood brightened. At least I'd have something of my family, if only from the last week before coming here. "Thank you, Konnor. I'd appreciate that." Then I blurted, "They're pretty good, you can read them if you want."

Konnor smiled. "Thank you, Bradley. I just might." Then he looked at his watch and said, "I have a meeting this evening. By all means, make yourself at home while I'm out. The light is good for reading on the sofa, if you prefer, and you know where the kitchen is. Just be in bed by ten or so, all right? You have an early day tomorrow."

"Yes, sir. I know."

A/N: 

_All in all you're just another brick in the wall_

"Another Brick in the Wall part 2" – Pink Floyd _The Wall_

Long day, long chapter. Bradley's break with home is already nearly complete. (The quote for this chapter got stuck in my head when I re-watched "Pink Floyd's The Wall": faceless children all dressed alike and marching in lockstep are shoved into a meat grinder.)

**Note about names:**

Konnie is another good nickname for Konrad, though not so common.

**Translation note:**

Since Bradley does not yet understand German, there is no translation note for this chapter.

**Very Special Note:**

Hey, all, just wanted to give you the heads-up about the BIG MOVE to my livejournal (guiltyredfics). I'm reposting ALL of the "Cross of Changes" arc over there, including this story. When I'm all caught up, I will be posting subsequent chapters ONLY at my livejournal and my website! I will give you plenty of notice before pulling the plug here, as I want all of you to continue reading in the new venue.

Again, this move is due to restrictive, reactive, and arbitrary policies here, which must at some point come into conflict with my storytelling.

The first story to disappear from FanFic will be "Standing Outside the Fire", due to content and rating issues. I plan on posting only TWO MORE CHAPTERS here on FanFic – after that, this story will ONLY be available at my LIVEJOURNAL (again, that's guiltyredfics) and on my WEBSITE (address in my profile). I apologize for any inconvenience or confusion, but it is better to do it this way than wait for the moderators here to shut me down.

You don't have to have a livejournal yourself to read (or review), so please, visit my livejournal, get comfortable with the setup there, and settle in for some (hopefully) powerful reading. Oh, and please, sign any reviews there with your FanFic pen-name so I know who you are!

Thank you!

GR

**Review Mailbag:**

**_Skippys Cat_** – Yes, time is a big thing at Rosenkreuz. To a precog, it is everything.

Are you reading "Whom Gods Destroy" over at my livejournal? Just wondering…

As for Bradley being astute, he's a Scorpio. The line between psychic and magic blurs in late autumn, you know.

**_Bladderwrack_** – "Rosenkreuz isn't a place that Brad can evaluate in terms of his real life experience. I'm not sure if he still half-expects it to not be real."

Very well said.

And his taste in movies wasn't all that strange – remember "Raiders of the Lost Ark"?

Yes, he does. Yes, they will.

sprays Bitter Apple Training Spray on furniture, then gets back to typing like a mad thing

**_Mastermind Sphinx_** – Be careful what you wish for, especially in a place like Rosenkreuz… Same question to you as to SkippysCat – are you reading "Whom Gods Destroy" over at my livejournal? You'll see the "what" here, but the "why" is in _that_ tale.

**_Shadowgirl_** – Heh heh heh…sand, hmmm?

That series is full of wonderful quotes, and you may find references to them here. Did you happen to catch the name of Roland's teacher…?

Remember the "speak only in German" bit. wink

And I'm glad you liked the description of dear Erich Sonndheim. Very visual…very nasty… I worked hard on that one.


	8. 07

**This is the last chapter that will be posted on the public fan fiction sites. **All further chapters will be found through my website and livejournal only. From here, I must ask all readers to proceed at their own risk. Thank you.

**7**

_My nerves are bad to-night. Yes, bad. Stay with me._

Voices…from the future? Where am I?

_When am I?_

"_Nagi, what did they tell you?"_

"_He's stable, for the moment. I don't know any more than that. I'm sorry, Schuldig."_

"_Hush…"_

I shook myself awake and looked at my watch. Half past ten. I must have dozed off. Books lay scattered on the couch and coffee table: my new textbooks, that story Rachelle had given me, and a beginning German workbook from Konnor.

"Konnor! Oh heck!" I was supposed to be in bed half an hour ago! A quick look around the apartment told me he hadn't come back from his meeting yet. I picked up my mess and set the living room right, then hurried to the bathroom to brush my teeth.

Once I was all ready for bed and hidden away in my room, I found I couldn't go to sleep. My arm hurt again, probably from sleeping all cramped up on the couch. It felt a little hot to the touch. If it still hurt in the morning, I'd have to tell Konnor about it.

Presuming, of course, he was home.

I picked up my watch and hit the little button for the light. Eleven forty-five. He'd left for his meeting before nine. My mind started conjuring up all sorts of things, none of them pleasant. Well, a few of them were pleasant – I did have a brief moment when I thought maybe Konnor had snuck off to see a girlfriend, and that made me laugh a little. He seemed kind of uptight to have a girlfriend.

Twelve-fifteen.

One o'clock.

The silence of the apartment seeped into my head, where it grew louder with my heartbeat. I was starting to get scared. What if something happened to Konnor? Did anyone know I was in here, and if they did, what would they do to me?

I tried to hear anything besides my own pulse and breathing. Back home there would be frogs and crickets, nightbirds sometimes, maybe a dog barking in the distance. But here there was nothing. I couldn't even hear the refrigerator in the kitchen.

Then I got really scared. I forgot where my door was, or the lightswitch, and just hauled the covers up over my head like a baby. "This is stupid, Bradley M. Crawford," I tried to tell myself, but I wasn't listening. Panic had me full, and I couldn't pry loose from it. The what-ifs roared through the night, laughing and whispering all sorts of horrible things.

One twenty.

The smooth metallic sound of a key sliding into a lock and turning cut through the darkness, and I gasped. Sweat ran down my back and under my arms as I huddled there in the bed. I couldn't make myself get up and look.

Soft sounds filtered through to my ears, and slowly began to make sense of things. A tired sigh, the rustling of fabric, the now-familiar sound of gloves tossed on a desk. The click of a light brought a dim glow to the edges of my door, and I realized I hadn't even shut it all the way. I heard the fridge open, then shut. Then footsteps moving away to the other side of the apartment, followed by the click of the light switch, and once again I lay in darkness.

I let out the breath I'd been holding. He was home, nothing had happened. The fear had all been my imagination. I thought back to the books I'd read before sleeping, and groaned at myself. No matter which story, Stephen King was not good bedtime reading. Then again, the textbooks hadn't been much better. I'd felt like I was reading wartime propaganda, the kind you hear about in those old movies where the bad guys try to warp right and wrong and get the hero to switch sides.

But still, it was pretty strange that Konnor had gone to a meeting at nine at night, and only come home after one. I wasn't his keeper or anything, but it just didn't set well for some reason.

I got up and padded through the darkened living room to the bathroom. I had to dry off the sweat before I took chill. After tending to my business, I started back to my room, then paused.

Though there wasn't any light underneath his door, I could hear Konnor doing something in his room. It sounded familiar, and it took me only a few seconds to place it. He was cleaning a gun. In the middle of the night. With the lights off.

My feet hurried me on back to my room and I shut the door all the way this time, as quietly as I could manage. The panic I'd only just got rid of threatened to come back with friends. I sat on the bed and tried counting breaths until it backed down again.

I knew Konnor had a pistol, he wore it with his uniform the way Marines wear the sword. Had he taken it with him tonight, and was there a reason he had to clean it before going to sleep? I had no way of knowing, and no safe way to find out. I knew my pa and my brother would make sure their hunting rifles were cleaned before doing anything else. Of course, if they'd ever managed to shoot anything the meat would have come first, but as it was they always came home and cleaned their weapons.

But they turned the light on first.

This was such a weird place. I wondered if I'd ever figure out the rules of it. There seemed to be a hidden world just beyond my fingertips, a world I wasn't sure I wanted to see. I felt like I'd fallen into a spy movie, but without a script: I didn't even know which side I was on.

I sighed. All of a sudden the weight of the day came up and sleep came with it. My mind willingly shut off the panic circuit and stopped babbling what-ifs and I crawled back into bed. Maybe things would make more sense in the morning.

They didn't.

Four hours of sleep left me groggy and distracted. I went through the motions of getting washed and dressed, all in a fog.

Konnor again escorted me to the dining hall, and again I braved the eggs. This time I asked for the coffee. No matter how nasty, it was better than nothing.

Then before I knew it a teacher was directing me to an empty seat in the middle of a room filled with expressionless kids. They stared without feeling, as if I were some kind of insect they couldn't be bothered to squish.

The morning passed in slow motion. It was all I could do to stay awake. I looked at the map Konnor had given me, I followed the herd of students from room to room, and I asked directions once from a teacher. Somehow I managed, though I was pretty certain I hadn't done so well.

By lunchtime I was desperate to just sit down and rest for a few minutes.

Konnor met me on the way to the dining hall. My eyes were drawn to his hip, where the pistol rested in its holster. Funny how I hadn't paid it much mind until last night, and now I couldn't seem to look away.

"Come with me, I have a surprise for you," Konnor said with a tiny smile. He held out his hand to guide me away from the lunchroom, and I complied with a sigh.

He led me to the main building and up some stairs. Curiosity woke me up a little, but only a little. I was getting really hungry, and I was still too tired to be thinking straight.

Konnor opened a door to a conference room and ushered me inside.

An older woman turned from the window and smiled slightly. "Herr Crawford, I am Frau Beldin. I'm so glad Herr Schoenberg was able to fetch you from your classes. Please, sit."

I sat, and regarded the tray of small sandwiches and pickles as though it might vanish at any moment.

"Do help yourself," the lady said. "I can't well evaluate you if you're faint with hunger, boy."

"Thank you, ma'am," I murmured, hoping that was the right thing to do. I took one of the sandwiches as Konnor set a soda down in front of me. Cold and caffeinated, it might just get me through whatever they had in store.

"The Recruitment division informs me that you are a highly functional precognitive, Herr Crawford," Frau Beldin stated, watching me eat. "Usually we don't begin training the gift directly until later, but in your case we may have to make an exception."

I looked up, first at her, then at Konnor. "Did I do something wrong?"

Konnor smiled. "Not at all, Bradley, not at all. It is merely that your gift is so strong, you will need safeguards as soon as we can give them to you."

Beldin nodded. "Herr Schoenberg asked for my opinion. I must say I agree with him."

"What do I need to do, then? For the evaluation, I mean," I asked, still not certain I was supposed to talk at all.

Beldin smiled. "I'm already done, Herr Crawford. Your natural shields are formidable, and behind them your mind seems quite in good order. I will make my recommendation to Frau Sheffield this afternoon."

Natural shields? Mind behind them? My stomach got nervous as I realized she'd been prowling around inside my head, and unlike with the guys on the airplane I hadn't felt a thing.

"Don't worry about it, Herr Crawford," Frau Beldin said, "it's a very rare man that can notice my handiwork. Guten Tag, Herr Schoenberg, Herr Crawford." With that she left, her step as brisk as her words.

Konnor sat down across from me and picked up a sandwich. "Well done, Bradley, well done! We'll have you in Sheffield's class before you know it, and that's a good thing. I told them you needed special handling."

Somehow I didn't like the idea of any kind of handling – I wasn't a trained dog, after all. But I kept that to myself.

The food and the soda did revive me somewhat, and I found my way to my afternoon classes without too much trouble. It bothered me a little that Konnor was doing so much for me when I had no way to repay him for his kindness.

Then he left me on my own for dinner, and I rethought that sentiment.

After forcing down as much of the unidentifiable and bland food as I could manage, I headed back to his apartment. Other students avoided me like I was a flu bug, drifting to the far side of the hallway and not looking at my face. A vague tremor in my gift told me this was probably for the best.

At Konnor's door, I hesitated. I'd never been alone on this side of the door before, and I had no idea if I was expected to knock or just go on in.

Then I heard voices.

I looked around to make sure no one was watching me, then I pressed my ear to the door and listened. The heavy wood muffled most of the sound, and I realized they were speaking in German anyway, but I managed to recognize Konnor's voice and the voice of that Englishman, Shelley.

Indecision rooted me to the spot. I didn't want them to think I'd been eavesdropping, because quite honestly I wasn't. I would have been, if it weren't for the thick door and my lack of language, but that wasn't the point.

Footsteps echoed down the hallway behind me.

I swallowed and knocked on the door.

The door swung open, showing me Konnor and his friend shaking hands as in goodbye. Shelley was holding a leather portfolio under his arm, and he was smiling.

"Ah, Mister Crawford," Shelly said, "we pass one another again. I trust sometime we can actually exchange more than just a few words."

"Hello, sir," I replied, not wanting to call him Shelley but not knowing his full name either.

Konnor grinned as if at a joke. "Mister Grant will be one of your tutors, Bradley. German as a second language, and vocal inflection. He's been in your shoes, knows all the shortcuts."

"We'll have you singing German tavern songs in no time," Shelley quipped, obviously rather pleased with himself.

"Not with Frau Beldin on watch!" Konnor said, nearly laughing the words.

"Oh, dear, not the old battleaxe? My deepest condolences, Bradley." Shelley turned his attention back to Konnor and said something in German, to which my mentor nodded. "Study your workbook, Mister Crawford, and I'll be seeing you a little later on." With that Shelley swept out of the room and down the hall, letting the door finally slip shut behind me.

"How was your afternoon, Bradley?" Konnor asked, gesturing for me to sit on the couch.

"Fine, sir – Konnor," I replied, not quite on the spot. My mind hadn't figured out that his guest was gone and I didn't have to remain formal. "I'm a little wore out, though. It's a lot to remember without getting lost."

"I know. I remember when I first came here, the place was a maze. And it's only gotten worse." He paused, his eyes going dark a moment, then he smiled and said, "In any case, you found your way back here in good time. You did have dinner, yes?"

"Yes," I told him, wanting to add 'unfortunately' but keeping my mouth shut. "Is he really going to be one of my teachers?" I asked, already having trouble memorizing all their names.

"Tutor, not teacher," Konnor stated. "I had the feeling you would want to learn the language with all possible speed. Shelton Grant is quite good at making it seem easy."

I fidgeted a little, then decided to ask him something that was starting to bother me. "Konnor, I don't want to sound ungrateful or anything, because I'm not, but why are you doing so much for me? I can tell that the other students aren't getting the kinds of breaks you're setting up. It just seems a little unfair to them, I guess." That wasn't exactly how I'd wanted to say it, but I couldn't make it come out any better.

Konnor sat next to me on the sofa. He looked into my eyes as he spoke. "It's because you are a very special young man, Bradley. You have gotten the attention of some very influential people, and it is in their best interest to see you do well."

My mouth went dry as my brain filtered what he said into what he meant. Of course he'd go all out for me: I was his key to power with these influential people, and he wasn't about to squander it. For some reason this knowledge hurt. I felt my breath tighten, and a wave of homesickness threatened to make me cry. At least back home I was wanted for me, not for what I could do for someone else.

Konnor's expression shifted a little, his eyes growing warm and sad. "It's not like that at all, Bradley. I want you to excel here, for your own sake. They just allow me to do a little more than most where you're concerned." He touched my chin and tilted my head up so I had to look at him. His fingers were hot.

For a moment we just sat there like that, me staring at him, him staring at me. The knot of betrayal in my chest loosened as I allowed myself to believe in him again. In reality, it didn't matter if he got anything out of this or not, Konnor was still my best bet at getting through this school and – what? Going home again?

Before the tears could sneak out, Konnor said, "Why don't change out of your school clothes and bring a book out here to read for a while? You've earned a little break this evening."

"Thank you," I murmured, slipping from the couch and hurrying to my room. My mind whirled in confusion and sadness. I took off my jacket and shoes, then grabbed a book and started back to the living room. Looking at the book in my hand, I grumbled at myself and set it back down before picking up the next one. I kept forgetting where I'd got to – I was on the third of Rachelle's books now. Gramma's bookmark peeked out from the pages.

Konnor offered me a smile when I returned and flopped onto the sofa. He had a book in his hands, too; I noticed he'd put his gloves back on, as if he didn't want to get that old-paper smell on his skin.

I went to open my book to my spot, but the overworked spine popped the pages open a little past it. Between the pages, a folded piece of paper gaped open just enough for me to recognize Rachelle's handwriting. I glanced over at Konnor. He was still reading his own book; I didn't think he noticed what I'd found in mine.

My thumbs propped the book open where it was supposed to be, and I tried to concentrate on reading. Too many times I'd had the feeling that someone other than me was in my head; for some reason I didn't want Konnor to know about my sister's note.

When Konnor excused himself to the bathroom, I snuck out that scrap of paper I'd found and unfolded it.

I felt myself blush as I looked at what she'd written. Disconnected phrases and images reminded me of a very late Beatles song, the kind you needed to be on the same drugs they were on to understand. I'd known before I had any right to know that sometimes she smoked pot, but this was just weird.

Then I read it a little closer, and a chill ran down my spine. Gramma had never said Rachelle had a touch of the Sight too, but it only made sense that she would.

And only Sight made sense of the poem. I couldn't explain it, it was just that clammy breathless feeling that told me to pay heed to these lines, that there was something very important here. Something crucial.

A warning.

Some of it I recognized from her books: "The Waste Land" by T.S. Eliot. Stephen King quoted from it quite a lot. By the feel of the words, I suspected it was all bits and pieces from the same poem, though how it fit together remained a mystery. The drowned sailor, the lady of situations, the one-eyed (_warrior_) merchant – I reeled a moment as words and possibilities swarmed around me. Death by water…

The bathroom door creaked, and I stuffed the note into my language workbook. I didn't want to get separated from it, and if my reading books had to stay with Konnor, my schoolbooks traveled with me.

As Konnor reclaimed his spot on the sofa, I tuned back in to my story. After a moment I realized I'd jumped in at the point where Rachelle's note had been. That chill came back.

"_Now say your lesson…and be true."_

Something was coming. Something dark, and (_murder_) – I swallowed. Whatever it was, did Konnor have the power to keep me safe from it?

Or was it him?

A/N: 

_My nerves are bad to-night. Yes, bad. Stay with me._

A moment from "The Waste Land" by T.S. Eliot. The scrap of paper Bradley found holds 115 seemingly random lines from this work, and yet, when read together, these lines seem like a poem all their own. They hold warnings in the form of prophecy, and paint a sure and grim picture for Bradley's future. The question remains, as always with Brad Crawford: even if he Sees it, will he be able to do anything to stop it? (For "Rachelle's note", please visit my GuiltyRed livejournal; for the original poem, check out the three w's dot bartleby dot com slash 201 slash 1 dot h t m l.)

Remember, the asterisks serve to set apart dialog and action that belong…elsewhen. And bear in mind, this story takes place twenty years ago (relative to Glühen) and yet concurrent with it, in the wounded mind of a wounded man lingering in the twilight between life and death.

**Review Mailbag:**

**Special Notice: **Don't forget, this story is now officially leaving FanFiction dot net, MediaMiner, and AFF and moving to my LiveJournal (GuiltyRedfics) and my website c/o HopeForlorn dot net. If you have any trouble finding it, please email me (it's in my profile) and let me know. Once again, this move is due to future content and the censorship policies of this public site. Thank you.

**_Skippys Cat_** – grin You miss nothing, do you? VERY claustrophobic.

"I still do the "humph jerk/meany/geez can't you be a little nicer?" thing and then remember oh yeah this is that place . . . the place that makes hell look like a summer vacation spot." LOL! I catch myself doing that, and I'm the one writing about the damn place!

Seeing? Seeing what…? smirk

"Man I really like Konner, damn my pessimism and paranoia, that probably means something bad." smirk again…

**_Shadowgirl_** – I love being cryptic. good question…GOOD question…

and…good catch on the oracle quote…

VERY interesting…

The young Bradley in a toga would look fairly silly, but I suspect the adult Brad in a toga…would be more than Schu could handle… wink

Doctors and nurses and needles, oh my! sweatdrop

Not random at all…remember, the comatose can still hear you…

On the paint-water coffee thing…when I was little, I used to do watercolors all the time, and rinse my brush out in a (you guessed it) coffee mug. One night, mom forgot to dump it out, and in the middle of the night (she was half-asleep) picked it up and drank it…woke her up REAL quick.

Gentleness, facade…hard to say. In any case, the clock is ticking…

**_Eternal-Darkness_** – Please see "Coming Home" for all your Brad x Schuldig needs. hentai smile


	9. 8

**8**

_What shall we use to fill the empty spaces where we used to talk?_

My second day of classes wasn't so bad, in spite of patchy sleep the night before and a longer day. I didn't have the extended lunch break this time, only half an hour to get to the dining hall and eat and then get back to class, but I wasn't inclined to dawdle over my food, either.

This day I started reciting the alphabet in German and saying a few basic words. The teacher glared at me like I was doing it all wrong. I figured that was due to my Kentucky ways. Konnor had said that Shelley could help with that, and I intended to take him up on it. No matter how much I wanted to keep my own voice, it kind of made me a target here, and that was the last thing I wanted to be.

I learned a little bit about the mind talents, just enough to be grateful I'd read so many comic books back home. It wasn't too hard to follow along and put things together here. The color codes were so other people knew what they were dealing with when they met up with a student. Made sense, really. I figured I wouldn't want to run up against someone who could blast me into smithereens with his mind and not know it was coming. Then again, with my gift, I'd probably know anyway.

By the time the school day was ended and I'd done my share of damage to dinner, my feet hurt and all I wanted was to have some quiet time. I was already starting to look forward to seeing Konnor after classes, though it seemed kind of weird to me. Then again, he was kind of a familiar face now, and those do have their places.

He asked me how my day went, and smiled and nodded when I told him. He asked if I had any studying to do, and I told him I did. The work load was fairly heavy, with reading in four of the classes and language exercises to be turned in the next day. I'd already done the written stuff while waiting for the "food" to stop jumping around in my stomach, so all I had left was the reading. A lot of reading.

I sat on the sofa with my textbooks and picked one at random to start with. Political theory. I put it back in the pile and tried again. World history. Oh, well, it was as good as any.

Konnor seemed to be doing about the same thing with his paperwork, shuffling through the stack until he found one more to his liking. I grinned a little, seeing as we were kind of alike in that way.

I don't know how long I read, but when the telephone startled me out of my book it wasn't dark outside yet. Konnor answered the phone, and I went back to reading.

I looked up when Konnor stood abruptly and snarled something into the receiver, his voice growing louder until he was nearly shouting. I felt the little hairs at the back of my neck go up; I wanted to listen in, but he was talking in German and going way too fast for me to make out more than a few scattered words.

There was a pause, and I guessed he was listening to the guy on the other end for a moment. Whatever he heard made his face go chalky-pale. He took a shuddery breath and asked "who?" something.

That answer must have been even worse, because he lowered the handset to the phone and set it on the cradle in slow motion, like he was moving through mud. He blinked, then stared, then took a bottle and a small glass out of his desk.

"Tonight we must celebrate, Bradley," Konnor said, though his voice sounded anything but happy. He poured himself a drink – I was pretty sure it wasn't for me – then raised the glass like he was toasting with it. He looked like he wanted to say something more, but washed it down with a swallow of the clear liquor. I knew it had to be something strong by the grimace he made as it went down. With a steady hand he refilled his glass, raised it, drained it.

My voice sounded small to me as I asked, "Are you all right? Konnor?" Something about the situation had me a little scared. I'd never seen anyone drink like that before; if he was this upset, it had to be very bad news.

Instead of replying, Konnor picked up the bottle and came over to the sofa. He gently placed the bottle on the table and sat down beside me, not looking at me at all.

I watched as he finished off that glass, then debated, then refilled it anyway.

After the fourth drink, he sat there staring at the glass for several minutes, as if he expected it to turn into a bird and fly away or something. He rolled it between his hands, catching glints of light off the edges, and his breathing slowed a little. I thought maybe he was dozing off.

I thought wrong.

With crisp movements he set the glass on the coffee table, then started stacking my books next to it like he needed something ordinary to do. Once the sofa was cleared except for the two of us, he finally turned to look at me.

What I saw in his eyes chilled me to the bone. It was like "Konnor" wasn't there, and not "Konnie" either. This…was Herr General, and he was not happy.

"Yes, we must celebrate," he murmured, not sounding the least bit drunk to me, though his trained accent had slipped a little. "Tomorrow you are to join the other students in the dormitories. You must have impressed someone to be removed from my care so soon. I can only wonder…who?" As he spoke, he slowly removed his gloves, then placed them on the table.

My mind whirled. I was supposed to stay with Konnor for the first few months! I had no idea what to expect out there, or what to do. He was going to get me ready for the move in plenty of time, so I wouldn't be unprepared for it. I didn't even know the language yet!

I opened my mouth to say something, but he didn't let me speak. He set his fingertip to my lips and looked into my eyes. "It grieves me to say goodbye so soon, Bradley."

Then he kissed me.

My back went stiff, and I felt hot and cold and shaky and just plain wrong. I didn't know if I wanted to faint or to run as fast as I could, but I did know that I didn't want him doing that, or anything else. I pulled back, my face burning. "Konnor –"

His hand gripped the back of my head and pulled me close again, and I couldn't get away this time. He pressed his mouth to mine and pried at my lips with his tongue. He tasted like peppermint.

Panicked thoughts screamed through my head. He's supposed to be my friend, my mentor, someone I thought I could trust! I wasn't stupid, I could guess where this was going even though the Sight had betrayed me big time – no hint, no warning, nothing.

I pushed at him, trying desperately to break away. In a strange way, it felt kind of…interesting, but all I wanted was for him to stop. I was only twelve, for crying out loud! I'd heard of things like this happening, but I'd never thought in a million years that it could ever happen to me!

Then his other hand was in my lap, touching me like he most certainly should not have been.

Terrified, I did the only thing I could think of. I bit his lip.

He pulled back, the offending hand rising to his mouth. His other hand still clutched my head.

I tried to reason with him, hoping against hope that he would let me go. "Don't do this, I don't want it! Konnor, please – no!"

"Second lesson," he rasped. "Never beg." His hand tightened in my hair and he leaned in so close I could see the flecks of ice in his eyes. "It's time you learned the rules, Bradley. More than time, I should think." Then he kissed me again, hard enough to bruise my lip against my teeth.

I bit him again, hard this time.

That made him let go, but then he reached back and struck me across the face. My glasses flew off and bounced over the carpet. Before I could do anything else, Konnor was off the couch and hauling me after him by my hair. I tried to plant my feet so I wouldn't move, but he was much stronger. He shoved me down to the floor. My shoulder hit the coffee table on the way down, toppling the neat stack of books and knocking the bottle over. Violent peppermint wafted through the air.

I started to get up when I felt myself flipped over onto my back and pressed full against the carpet.

Konnor stood two feet away, delicately righting the bottle and moving his gloves away from the spilled liquor.

I struggled, but it was like being held down by an invisible giant! I couldn't move! I could barely even breathe!

Konnor looked down at me and said, "In time, Bradley, you will come to understand. It is not in my nature to be so…forceful, but circumstance demands…" His voice trailed off.

I tried one last time to talk him out of it, though I could pretty much guess it wouldn't do any good. "Konnor," I wheezed, fighting just to get air into my chest, "please don't do this, you're my friend, I trusted you!"

Fast as a monster he was crouching beside me, the invisible grip never wavering. "I thought I told you," he said, his voice falsely gentle before rising to a snarl, "never beg!"

I screamed, or I tried to, but all that came out was a squeak before the air went away. If I relaxed I could breathe, but that was like saying it was okay, and it was not okay. He undressed me like a doll, moving my arms and legs and butt for me and just sliding the clothes off. His hand was hot as he touched me, not like the doctor had done but worse, sort of slow and on-purpose touching. I didn't want it, I really didn't want it, but something about that touching made me feel kind of warm in the belly, and that wasn't a bad feeling. My thinking mind shouted warning after warning, but my body was starting not to care so much, and that scared me. Scared me so much, in fact, that it didn't feel so nice anymore, until everything felt kind of cold and tense and small.

Then Konnor picked me up and carried me toward his bedroom.

The force that kept me from moving was still there, or I would have kicked and fought, because it could only get worse from here. Helpless tears started seeping from my eyes, and I cursed at myself for showing such weakness. Sure it looked hopeless, but that was no excuse for giving up.

Konnor lay me down on his bed, the covers neat and tightly drawn beneath me. He gazed at me and for a moment it was only Konnor again, my friend, my mentor. I realized I could move, but at the same time I couldn't; I just stayed where he put me like I was frozen, only from the inside this time. He caressed my face and whispered, "I do this out of love for you, Bradley. My little star."

Then he unfastened his pants.

I wanted to back up, to run, to do anything but just lie there and watch, but that's exactly what I did. I stared at him like a trapped animal waiting for the killing strike.

He joined me on the bed and started touching me again, and the more he did that the more excited he got. I didn't want to look, but I couldn't help myself. It looked almost painful, the way it was all red and swollen. At first it had looked a little strange, but the stiffer it got the more it looked like any other guy's.

And the more he touched, the more mine swelled like his. I didn't understand, if I didn't want to be doing this, why was I getting excited? It didn't make any sense, unless my sister was right when she'd said that peckers make men stupid.

Then Konnor shifted and moved toward my feet, and I tensed. If he was going to rape me, I knew there was no way I could fight him. I could only hope it wouldn't hurt too much, and he'd leave me alone after.

But he didn't do what I thought he was going to do. Instead, he leaned down and kissed me there, and I heard myself gasp. I'd played with it a few times myself, but never felt anything like that before. He opened his mouth and slid his lips around it like it was an ice-pop, and my gasp turned into a groan. It was making me stupid, all right; though I knew perfectly well what he wanted, I couldn't think clearly enough to find a way to stop him. I couldn't think hardly at all.

He kept licking on me, making me feel all crazy and tingly until it all got to be too much and I felt like I was capsizing, swept away by an unstoppable wave. Everything kind of tightened up and jolted, then relaxed like I was made of jelly.

Konnor gave a little whimper in the back of his throat. He moved up beside me, then knelt beside my head. His prick touched my lips, and I tried to turn my head away. "Ohhh, no," he chided, gently turning my head back toward him. "You know what to do now, so do it." His voice was like frosted silk as he added, "Or do I have to pin you down and choke you with it?"

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. I didn't bother fighting when he pushed against my mouth, though the wet stuff on his prick tasted bitter. Desperately hoping that this would be the end of it, I tried to do to him what he had done to me. It wasn't easy to fit my lips around it, and I gagged a couple of times. He didn't seem to mind, he just knelt there kind of rocking back and forth and murmuring encouragement to me. I didn't care what he was saying, I just wanted to be done with it.

Suddenly he started moving faster, and it was all I could do not to gag up on it. "Oh, yes, Bradley! That's it! Beautiful, oh so beautiful…" He made a funny sound and slid his hand behind my head again, and my mouth was full of bitterness and salt. It spilled out onto his pillow, but he didn't seem to notice. His free hand caressed my face, the fingers tracing along my cheek as lightly as a feather.

I wanted to throw up.

Konnor got off the bed and slowly pulled the covers down, guiding me to get under them. Numb, I did so. I was cold, shaky cold, and there wasn't anyplace safe here anyway.

He got into bed beside me, pausing to turn the pillow over first, and gathered me into his arms. His lips brushed my ear as he whispered, "In time you will understand, Bradley." His voice was so low I could barely hear him. I wasn't even certain he spoke out loud, though I could feel his breath on my face. "Know that I love you, my diamond. Never forget it." He kissed my cheek, ignoring the tears that streamed and streamed. "I will always love you, no one can ever change that. No one. You are most precious to me."

Something inside me broke apart and died as Konnor held me and whispered, "Good night, Bradley."

**A/N:**

_What shall we use to fill the empty spaces where we used to talk?_

"Empty Spaces" – Pink Floyd _The Wall_

This was one of the most difficult chapters of the entire arc to write.

My muses informed me that this was what took place, and I balked. Surely there had to be some mistake, how could a guy snap like that and attack a kid who trusted him? But in RL that kind of thing happens all too often, and Rosenkreuz is a microcosm of RL. It was designed that way.

I begged my muses to take another look, see if there might be some way to avoid all this ugliness. They said sure, no problem, and proceeded to show me possible worlds in which Konnor remained a rational man. There were many ways this day could have unfolded, and the chapter you see in the story is but one of them.

It is also the only one that eventually led to the birth of Brad Crawford.

In every other scenario my muses devised, young Bradley did not grow up to become the hardened and cold team leader he must be in order to take down the Elders of Esset and become a living legend. There is one that came closer than most, but in that world he wasn't the leader of that team, and though they defeated the Elders in much the same way, the rest of the story is significantly changed – in that world, there is no Schwarz. A different team did the deed, a team where the only recognizable players were Brad and Nagi. Schuldig was not there, nor Farfarello. They…had other work to do. (I may write this AU someday, it's quite fascinating to me to see how things veered off among the quanta. If you hear me talking about "Delta World", that would be the one.)


	10. 09

**9**

_Sleep with one eye open, gripping your pillow tight…_

I don't know what I expected when I woke up. I wasn't even sure where I was.

Then I remembered.

All of a sudden it was hard to breathe again.

I was alone in Konnor's bed. The light was off, and the door was slightly ajar. The covers had been pulled up as if he'd made the bed around me while I slept.

A sleek digital-style alarm clock told me it was 5:30.

I heaved a sigh and slipped from the bed, then smoothed down the sheet and pulled the covers back up. For a moment I debated taking the blanket off the bed and wrapping it around myself, as my clothes were probably still in the main room, on the floor, where he'd tossed them before…

Stop it right now, I told myself. Nothing happened. Nothing really important, anyway. I should probably feel lucky it wasn't any worse. Nevertheless, I was now trembling like I was freezing from the inside.

"Ah, you're awake."

It took all my resolve to not jump at his voice. I turned slowly toward the door and nodded. "Yes…Konnor." I'd almost slipped and called him 'sir', though I knew better. After what he'd done, it seemed more proper; calling him by his first name seemed too close now.

He rested a hand on my shoulder, and I did not flinch. Konnor leaned over and dropped my clothes on the end of the bed. "Today is a big day for you, Bradley. You'll want to face it wide awake, I should think." Then he turned the light on and left me alone to get dressed.

I picked up my jacket first, of all things, and just held it as if it could keep me warm without my putting it on. Shaking my head at myself, I set the jacket back down and picked up the t-shirt. Only when I heard Konnor doing something in the kitchen did I step into my underpants – somehow that felt more vulnerable than being naked.

Once I was dressed, I took a moment and looked around his room, just out of curiosity. It was stark and bare, with a neatly closed wardrobe along one wall and a tiny desk beneath the narrow window at the far end.

Before he came to fetch me, I turned off his light and made my way to the kitchen.

Konnor smiled at me as if nothing had happened. "There's pastries and coffee, if you'd like a little extra this morning, Bradley. You'll want your energy today."

The last thing I wanted was sweets, but I nodded pleasantly and put one on a plate. Konnor ushered me back to the living room, twin cups of hot coffee in his hands. I didn't really want to sit on that sofa again – the smell of peppermint liquor hung over the table like a ghost – but I had no good way to decline. He sat beside me and sipped his coffee.

"After your classes today, you will be met by the head of your dormitory. He will show you where you will be staying from now on." Konnor's voice sounded a little strained, but his face showed no reaction to his own statement. "Don't forget, I am still your mentor, Bradley. If you need anything, anything at all, come to me first, understood?"

"Understood."

He leaned closer and whispered, "I'll keep those books safe for you, all right? You may visit them when your schedule permits." Sitting back, he went on to say, "I expect to hear good things from your teachers. Do stop by to chat once in a while, so I get the news firsthand, all right? And you'll be having your first voice lesson tomorrow, I believe. Do give Shel my regards, would you?"

"I will."

It astounded me that he didn't seem to notice I wasn't quite right, especially since he was the cause of it. Then again, as much as I was trying to convince myself that everything was, in fact, normal, he kept reminding me that it wasn't. All I wanted was to get away from him.

When he suggested I go to the cafeteria for some eggs before going to class, I agreed it would be a good idea, all the while hoping he wouldn't come with me.

He didn't, he just saw me to the door, made sure I had my books, and touched my face with his fingertips as he wished me a good day.

It was all I could do not to take off running.

Though I'd pretty much sleepwalked through my first two days, I suppose enough of the map had stuck in my head that I didn't get lost this time. I tried my best to concentrate on the classwork and not think about Konnor, but it was really difficult. I kept wondering what I'd done wrong, how I could have provoked him. It didn't make any sense.

"Herr Crawford, are you with us this morning?"

I blinked, momentarily lost in my own head. The teacher – I'd forgotten his name already – regarded me blandly from the podium. All the kids in the room stared at me as if they expected me to do a trick or something. I felt my face go hot as I stammered, "Jawohl, Herr…Garrick."

"Granted, the class is history, Herr Crawford, something which is of limited interest to a foreseer, but it is required. Unless you are tuning in to something of more critical importance, I suggest you tune in here. If you cannot focus around your visions, perhaps a change of venue would be in order?"

"No, sir, I mean, yes, sir, Herr Garrick." Oh, man, I was making this all messed up! "I mean, I'm back now, Herr Garrick."

"Good. Be certain to mention this to your primary trainer." He turned back toward the chalkboard, allowing me to wilt into my chair as much as possible.

Around me, kids in blue shirts looked mildly worried or embarrassed, while the kids in red looked smug. I started writing down notes and noticed my hand was shaking.

The kid behind me poked me in the shoulder with his pencil.

I jumped a bit, hoping like crazy the teacher hadn't noticed! But Herr Garrick was still facing the chalkboard, so I glanced back to see if the kid was trying to tease or honestly wanting my attention.

A boy in a blue shirt offered me a shy smile, the kind of smile that says "too bad teacher busted you, but at least it wasn't me today". I shrugged and half-smiled back.

When the buzzer signaled the end of that class, the kid followed me out to the hall, then came up beside me. "You're the new precog, aren't you?" he asked, his voice reedy-high. "How old are you?"

I'd been kind of expecting "where are you from" or "what's your name, kid", not a quiz on my age. "I'm twelve," I told him, trying not to sound too much like a country boy. "Name's Bradley, Bradley Crawford." I offered to shake his hand.

The kid grinned and accepted the handshake. "Trevor Ashton, pleased to meet you. I think you might be in my dorm. We were getting a new kid today, they said he was my age."

We compared schedules, then realized we had to go in opposite directions now. We did have the same lunch time, so he promised to find me then. I made it to my next class a little more hopeful than I had been.

True to his word, Trevor found me in the dining hall and invited me to sit with his friends. Four other kids in blue gave me this sort of appraising glare, then seemed to accept me within their ranks. If we were back in Kentucky, I'd have said this was the geek table.

"Kentucky? Where's that?"

I blinked. Had I said it out loud?

"United States, Ashton. Don't you pay attention, or did you sleep through Geography?" The speaker had an accent that almost sounded Russian.

Trevor shrugged. "Never likely to go there, why should I pay attention?"

One of the other boys snickered, then gestured at me with his fork. "You can close your mouth now, Trevor's a telepath, and a lazy one at that! You're not losing your mind, he's pulling it right on out of your head!"

Aside from the subject matter, the banter reminded me of the school I used to go to, with its well-defined roles for the bookish and the jocks. I supposed maybe some things were universal after all. "How can I keep him out?" I asked, trying not to laugh.

The Russian kid frowned and said, "Think of something nasty, like –"

"Hey, I'm trying to eat, dammit!" Trevor choked, spitting food back onto his plate.

Then I did laugh, and the other kids laughed with me. I was beginning to feel like I almost belonged with them. It wasn't a bad feeling.

The rest of the day flew by, and I met up with my new-found friends for dinner. This time I looked around the cafeteria, really looked, and started making sense of things I'd sort of noticed before but never had the chance to think about. The younger kids, the ones in the dark gray jackets, stayed well away from the older kids. It was like they banded together like herd animals, safety in numbers. I wasn't sure why I thought that, but I couldn't shake the idea. Something about the older kids just screamed 'menace'. Maybe it was just the power of adulthood.

Or maybe it was the smaller number of them.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as I did the math. If the years were fairly constant, and the class of twelve-year-olds didn't grow or shrink much over time, that meant that very few of the kids were still here when they turned seventeen or so.

I had the feeling they didn't just transfer to another 'boarding school'.

"Oh, shit!"

I glanced quickly at Trevor, who looked down and growled, "Patrol, due north."

I started to ask, but the Russian kid – Piotr – grabbed my shoulder and squeezed. "Look. Down. At your plate. Say nothing."

Foreboding colored my thoughts gray, and I did what he told me. Dimly I noticed a group of five older boys coming this way. They didn't hurry, they didn't wander: they strode across the cafeteria like they owned it. Their jackets were open, showing red shirts beneath.

One of them paused next to our table. The others waited while he leaned down and whispered something to Trevor.

My friend blushed, then nodded tightly. He pushed back from the table. "Later," he murmured, then followed the older kid out.

Only when the five guys were gone did anyone at my table move.

"Come on," Piotr whispered, "we'd better go."

"Bradley Crawford?"

We all looked up, and I nodded before thinking. A young man in a light gray jacket with blue trim studied me with mild curiosity. He bowed slightly, the gesture reminding me of Konnor, and said, "David Smythe. I'm head of your dormitory. If you'll follow me?"

I glanced back at my friends, who were quietly melting into the herd as it moved out of the cafeteria. "Later," I whispered, feeling very alone again.

The dorm room wasn't at all what I'd expected. It was small and cramped, with double bunk beds lining both side walls. The thought of cramming eight kids into this room threatened to set off my claustrophobia, but I managed to fight it down. There was plenty of space here, it was just all filled up with the furniture.

Five pairs of eyes regarded me with suspicion as I stared at my new home.

"Gentlemen, may I present your new roommate, Bradley Crawford. Herr Crawford, you may have the top bunk here on the end. There is a cupboard set into the wall where you may store your books and your clothing. You have an appointment tomorrow morning to pick up the rest of your gear, I trust you remember where you received your uniform?"

I nodded, hoping I didn't look too blank. These kids reminded me of miniature thugs, with hardened eyes and unsmiling mouths. All my instincts told me this was a dangerous place to be, but I had no choices left.

"Curfew is at twenty-two-hundred, first bell is at oh-six. The rules are simple," David explained, leaning against the nearest bunk, the one opposite where I would be staying. He reached a hand up and over his head; the kid sitting on the top bunk palmed a cigarette from somewhere and handed it to him. David smiled. "Room inspections are conducted randomly, usually by me. Contraband is subject to confiscation. There is no smoking allowed in the room, nor are you to consume alcohol or any non-authorized chemicals here."

The boy on the top bunk snickered. David smacked his foot, then shut the door and lit his cigarette. He leaned back again and blew an elaborate cloud of smoke into the air. "Friends, Herr Crawford, are the finest currency. Make your alliances wisely. Snitches are not tolerated in this dorm. Do you understand?"

"Oh, I understand," I replied. Did I ever! The name of the game here was to get away with whatever you could, without getting caught by the wrong people or pissing anyone off. I felt dizzy, going from Konnor's strict but outwardly civil world to this one. I had slipped the grasp of Captain Hook only to fall in with the Lost Boys themselves.

"Hey, Smythe, he really does get it!" This voice came from almost behind me. I looked at the bunk below "mine", and a curly-haired boy smiled up at me. He offered me his hand and introduced himself as "Frettchen". "Don't think so loudly, new boy, and we'll get along just fine!"

David put out the cigarette on the sole of his shoe, then pocketed the stub. "Listen," he said to me, "this isn't a bad bunch. There are those, to be sure, but these fellows are pretty solid. They can show you around, and it's my job to answer any questions and make sure you're fitting in all right." He looked about the room, then checked his watch. "I know where Julian is, but where's Trevor?"

One of the kids shrugged; another just looked at the wall.

I cleared my throat to speak, but Frettchen beat me to it. "He's been having headaches, Smythe. Bad ones."

"Damn. I take it he didn't go to medical?"

Frettchen shook his head. "Would you?"

David sighed. "I'll keep an eye out. Thanks." To me he said, "Welcome to your dormitory, Herr Crawford. Oh, and the pencil sharpener is back here." He gestured as he opened the door and let himself out.

Frettchen rolled off his cot and shut the door.

The kid on the top bunk across from me took out another cigarette and lit it.

The other three guys slouched back on their beds and started half-heartedly going through their textbooks.

I climbed up to my bunk, since there wasn't any other place to sit except the floor. There was a sort of swing-arm desktop attached to the frame, which was kind of cool, only it meant I'd be dangling my legs over the side to use it properly. At least I could do my homework on it.

The cupboard David mentioned was basically a box-drawer stuck into the wall near the head of the bunk. There was a shelf set over it that was just the right size for books, but by the feel of the wall and the drawer one good bump on the opposite side would land the books on my head. Still, I didn't have many better options. I stowed my stuff, then leaned against the wall and tried to relax.

"So, Crawford," the smoker asked, "what do you do?"

I hadn't been asked that before. So far everyone had just kind of known. All of a sudden I didn't know what to say.

"He's the new precog," Frettchen chirped. "You know, Schoenberg's find?"

I shuddered at the name. Trying to hide my reaction, I asked, "So what do you guys do?"

"I'm a 'path," the smoker said, then gestured at Frettchen. "So's he, and Trevor too. Julian's an object reader. These three antisocial bastards," he chided, "two next to me are clairsentients, and Frettchen's neighbor over there is an empath."

"Telempath, thank you very much," the boy on the lower bunk next to mine grumbled. "Georgiev Stenovich. Now if you don't mind, I'm trying to study."

"Antisocial bastard."

"Enough, Donley." The guy on the bottom bunk next to the smoker slammed his book shut and glared up at him. He looked a little older, like maybe fourteen or so. "And put out that damn cigarette. Smythe doesn't owe you that much." He glanced up at me and said, "Telepaths are mostly fruitcakes, but they're not all that bad. Donley's a bit of a speed-head, with a mouth to match, if you hadn't noticed. Whereas clairsentients, and I'm sure precogs, are a quieter breed, with more need for concentration. Especially when they're trying to fucking study!"

"All right, all right!" Donley growled, stubbing out his cigarette and hiding the butt inside his shoe. "Antisocial–"

The door opened.

The five guys stopped talking and stared at their textbooks. I followed suit, while sneaking a look at the door. I was hoping it was Trevor.

It wasn't. A lean and weary-looking kid headed straight for the bunk below Donley's, dropping his books to the bed and joining them in a limp heap. He flung an arm over his eyes like he was trying to block out the light.

Frettchen shut the door and squatted next to the guy's bunk. "Jules, you okay?"

The new guy nodded. "I'll be fine," he whispered. "Just a little queasy." He wiped his forehead with a leather-clad hand, following up with a back-handed wipe across his nose. He sat up and noticed me looking at him. "You the new precog?"

I nodded.

He smiled thinly. "See anything good for me tomorrow?"

"It doesn't quite work that way," I told him, wishing that it did. What a bargaining chip that would be! "Sorry."

Julian shook his head. "Never apologize. To anyone. They take it as a sign of weakness here. Where are you from?"

"Kentucky. United States," I added in case he was in Trevor's Geography class.

Julian nodded. "You sound a little like Elvis."

"He's not from Kentucky," I replied, not sure if I should feel pleased or insulted by his statement.

Rather than continue talking, Julian rolled over on top of his books and pulled the thin blanket over himself, not even bothering to take off his shoes.

I leaned down and asked Frettchen, "Is he okay?"

Concerned gray eyes looked up at me. "He's been doing extra psi-work in the evenings, trying to get his gift under control. It's hard for him here. He usually passes out for a couple of hours, then tries to cram his studying in before curfew. Sometimes he uses a flashlight."

I didn't know what to say to that. Mechanically I lined up my books and started in on my assignments. My mind didn't want to cooperate. It kept asking all sorts of unnerving questions.

A buzzer announced it was almost curfew, and still no sign of Trevor. The others filed out to use the bathroom and brush their teeth, and I followed. I hadn't really paid attention to the public bathrooms here, but tonight I couldn't help notice how open they were, with low toilet stalls and one big shower area. At least I didn't have that watched feeling like I'd had in Konnor's apartment, but this was nasty in its own right.

My roommates changed into nightshirts and folded their uniforms before heading back. I realized I didn't have sleep-clothes, I'd been using my old t-shirt and briefs up till now. I'd have to wear my uniform t-shirt and shorts to bed, or wear nothing, and I wasn't about to sleep naked here again if I could help it. I folded my pants and jacket and hurried after the others.

When I got back to my bunk, I noticed a lump in the next bed over. The lights went out before I could get a better look, but I knew it had to be Trevor.

I wanted to ask if he was all right, but the silence was too heavy. No one else spoke, and I felt like I wasn't supposed to. I tried thinking loudly in his direction, like Frettchen had teased me about.

Nothing.

Time drawled along, and sleep wouldn't come. I lay there thinking, worrying, wondering. My mind couldn't even have the decency to throw visions at me, it was all just whirling chaos mixed with fear.

A muffled creak brought me to full awareness. Someone had climbed down from their bunk.

Climbed down, and crawled into a different bed.

From Georgiev's bunk I heard the soft sound of furtive weeping.

I rolled toward the wall and willed myself to sleep.

**A/N:**

_Sleep with one eye open, gripping your pillow tight…_

"Enter Sandman" – Metallica _Metallica (the Black Album)_

Out of the frying pan and into the fire, from Konrad's dubious protection to the wilds of the Rosenkreuz dormitory. Now Bradley's education begins in earnest.

About Konnor's "sleek digital-style alarm clock" – remember, this story takes place during the mid-80's, when most digital clocks were clunky, red LED monstrosities and still a little bit novel.


	11. 10

**10**

_lost, in a lost world_

The morning buzzer startled me out of uneasy dreams. I started to hop out of bed when I remembered I was on the top bunk and the floor was a good ways down. Catching myself on the railing before I could make a fool of myself, I climbed down nice and easy, then followed the other boys to the washroom. Somehow, moving with my own little herd made it easier to go through the motions.

Then I realized I was about to take a shower with seven other kids and no privacy.

I heaved a sigh and shrugged off my clothes, setting them on a shelf like everyone else had done. Soap and shampoo waited in little cubbies inside the shower itself, and ten shower heads provided thin streams of luke-warm water. My roommates were already lathered up and in the process of rinsing by the time I got started.

"You'll want to hurry," Frettchen said through a mask of soap. "Water gets cold really fast."

I scrubbed as quickly as I could manage, though by the time I was done the water was freezing.

As we filed back into the dorm room, Smythe came to the door with a stack of papers in his hand. "Mail call!"

For one frantic moment I imagined a letter from home. Then I saw that his "mail" consisted of inter-office envelopes and memos, and my heart sank. I tried not to let the disappointment show in my face.

"Crawford, these are yours," David said, tossing a handful of papers on my bunk.

I picked one at random and opened it. It was simply a folded-over note sealed with tape, reminding me of my appointment with the uniform guy. I started to toss it aside when Smythe said, "Keep that. It's your hall pass for Requisitions."

"Oh. Right." I looked at the rest of my "mail": another folded piece of paper, and a yellow envelope with my name written in blue ink. I'd seen enough of Konnor's paperwork to know this wasn't his handwriting, and something in me sighed in relief. I didn't want to think about being summoned back to his lair so soon.

"Hurry up, Crawford! You're gonna miss breakfast!" Donley tugged on his shoes and headed for the door, not waiting for me.

I realized I was alone in the room. "Aw, heck!" With a mad scramble I got into my rumpled uniform and grabbed my books, pausing to stuff the unopened notes and the hall pass into the stack.

Trevor and Frettchen were waiting for me at the end of the hallway. For the first time that morning I got a good look at Trevor – his face was bruised, and he wouldn't look at me.

"Hey, Trev, you okay? I was worried about you last night," I told him. The way he flinched away from my words put a knot in my stomach.

"I'm fine." The words came out with barely any volume. "Come on, we're going to be late."

Frettchen touched my arm. On a whisper he said, "I'll explain later. Don't ask him any more, okay?"

I nodded and followed them to the dining hall.

In between bites, I re-read the note for the uniform fitters. It told me to go there instead of going to my first class, which was a good thing, as I couldn't remember where the classroom was. My schedule was different for every other day, and that would take some getting used to.

Just as I thought it couldn't get any more confusing, I untaped the other note and groaned. It was a schedule change, courtesy of my mentor. He'd gotten me into Frau Sheffield's class, starting today. I wasn't sure if I was happy about this or not. In any case, I had no idea where the classroom was – building 4B was not one he'd shown me on the tour. With any luck it was on my map. I'd check that after getting my gear.

The envelope held my curiosity, and I kind of enjoyed the suspense for a few more moments. Then I figured I'd better open it rather than try to guess what it might be about. Besides, surprises here probably wouldn't be good ones.

Inside was a note written in German and again in English. The penmanship was remarkable; I sure hoped they didn't expect me to ever write like that!

"Good day, Mr. Crawford. I hope this letter finds you well. Enclosed please find a hall pass granting you free passage between the dinner hour and curfew. I shall be expecting you at nineteen-hundred hours sharp, room 519. Bring your best voice. Sincerely yours, Shelton Grant."

I sighed and sagged over the table.

"What is it, a teacher summons? Already?" Frettchen reached for the note. I let him take it, as I was digging in the envelope for the hall pass. This was an actual plastic tag on a long string, like roadies wear at a concert or something.

"Whoa, stash that!" Trevor said, pushing my hand down to the table. "That's as good as money here, you don't want people to see you have one of those!" He looked around, clearly worried.

"So what do I do with it?" I asked. It looked like it was supposed to be worn around the neck or something, not hidden in a pocket.

Frettchen pantomimed with the note as he told me, "Wear it around your neck, but tuck the tag into your jacket. That way, people won't know what kind of pass it is, and they won't risk snatching it from you. And the only ones you'd need to show it to would be the actual Hall Patrol, or teachers."

"And Hall Patrol wear white bands on their sleeves, and whistles around their necks, so you know they're for real," Trevor said, relaxing only as I followed Frettchen's instructions and hid the pass in my coat.

"So how come the one for Requisitions is only a paper note?" I asked, more than a little confused now.

"Because everyone knows you're new, and you have to get your gear," Frettchen told me, handing me Mr. Grant's note. "Besides, it's not so unusual for students to be wandering around between breakfast and lunch. It's not so dangerous then."

Dangerous? I looked into his eyes and asked, "Is there something I should know, Frettchen? Something that maybe someone didn't bother to warn me about?"

In a thin voice, Trevor said, "If you see anyone older than you and they're not a teacher and they're not Hall Patrol, run."

"No, don't run," Frettchen said with a sidelong glare at Trevor. "Never run. Hide, and pray they didn't notice." He looked directly at Trevor and added, "If you run, they'll see you moving."

I had the distinct feeling that the penalty for getting caught in the halls like that wouldn't be as simple as a wedgie or getting stuffed into a locker. More for their sake than mine I offered a bold smile and said, "Thanks, guys. Hey, I'm a precog, right? I should be able to get out of mostly anything."

Trevor looked at me through bruised eyes and said, "Don't count on it."

My stomach hurt as I trudged toward Requisitions. Trevor and Frettchen had promised to meet up with me for lunch, but for now I was on my own. _Not so dangerous then_ – was this why Konnor was so angry, because I didn't even know the rules out here? Maybe I was in real danger, and Konnor didn't want to lose whatever goodie I afforded him, a promotion or bonus or whatever.

Maybe he really did care.

Chills raced up and down my back at that thought. Where I came from, people didn't show they cared by attacking someone. Still, I knew my share of drunk stories, men who were usually quite civil getting plastered and beating their wives. Maybe here that was normal.

I didn't want to be the toy of a violent drunk, but I didn't want to be adrift among the sharks, either. My heart remembered the moment of optimistic joy I'd felt when Smythe had announced "Mail call!", but then all I wanted was to cry. Things had gotten too weird, too scary, and I wasn't prepared to deal with them. For a moment I considered running back to Konnor and begging him to take me back in.

Then I remembered rule number two.

"Lost, Herr Crawford?"

The gravelly voice brought me wide awake. My feet felt like they were stuck to the floor.

Herr Sonndheim looked like he'd just caught a prize fish on a dime-store line. He strolled toward me, eyeing me up and down as if looking for obvious contraband. "A bit far from the classrooms, aren't we? I trust you have a pass?"

"Y – jawohl, Herr Sonndheim," I stammered. I squatted down and set my books on the floor, then pulled the note from the book I'd stashed it in. Standing too quickly, I thrust out the note as if it were a shield even as my head reeled from the change in altitude.

With exaggerated care, Sonndheim took the note from me and read it, then nodded. "Ah, yes. The secondary round at the outfitters, eh? They never do it all on the first day, you know. Attrition." He smiled a very nasty smile at me. "Do you know what 'attrition' means, boy?"

I shook my head.

"You will." He handed me the note back, then seemed to notice the string around my neck. "Another pass? My, aren't you the popular lad. Let me see it."

My mind kept replaying what my friends had said, about danger in the hallways. I had the feeling this was worse than anything they could have warned me about. Sonndheim kept smiling as I took the pass out from my coat and slipped the string off. My hand shook as I offered it to him, though I felt a little brave in that it only shook a little.

"Who gave you this?" He did not move to hand it back.

"H-herr Grant, sir. I'm to have speech lessons."

The smile reminded me of a crocodile: wide, reptilian, and very insincere. "And none too soon," he purred, draping the cord about my neck for me. "Give him my regards, boy. He's one of our finest, you know." With a raspy chuckle, Sonndheim strode past me and continued on his way.

I tucked the pass into my coat again, and picked up my books. My hands were really shaking now. Shelton Grant was Konnor's friend, but Sonndheim had just told me to send his regards, and a compliment. If _they_ were friends, what would Mr. Grant do to me, alone in his room between dinner and curfew? I really considered going to Konnor and telling him I had a headache, asking if we could reschedule the meeting. But then I'd be alone in Konnor's rooms again…

With some difficulty I got my feet moving again, trudging toward the Requisitions office at an increasing pace. All I knew for certain was I wanted this day over with as soon as possible.

The uniform fitter remembered me, though he didn't exactly say hello. He just sort of grunted at me, took the note that had served as my hall pass, and handed me a plastic milk-crate full of clothes. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to try them on, but instead of directing me to one of the stalls he handed me another note and turned his attention back to his coffee.

I looked at the note. It was written in German. I cleared my throat. "Excuse me, sir, what am I supposed to do next?"

He looked up with a weary scowl. In a thickly accented voice he said, "Take your gear back to your dorm and return to your classes. Dismissed, boy."

As I reached the door, he added, "Good luck."

By this time, students milled about the halls, giving me a weird sense of cover. At least I wouldn't be alone with Sonndheim again. I hurried back to the dorm and dumped the contents of the crate onto my bunk. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to keep the box or not, but no one else seemed to have one, so I figured the answer was 'not'. I quickly changed into a clean t-shirt, since I'd worn this one to sleep in, and shrugged back into my jacket.

In the middle of the pile of clothes lay a new digital wristwatch. I looked at the old one on my wrist, then the new one on the bunk. I didn't want to lose one of the few remnants of my past, but I had to admit the new one looked pretty slick. Then I piled the other clothes over the watch and decided to pretend I hadn't seen it yet. I had to get to class, and I didn't think they expected me to go through my new things just then.

I dug out my map and searched for building 4B. It was across the main courtyard, a good jog away from my other classes. I groaned. It would take a brisk trot to get from one class to the next; I'd be lucky to not be late. Well, next time, anyway; I was already late today, thanks to my run-in with Sonndheim.

A shiver ran through me, and for a moment I Saw flames, and dark, dark eyes. I shook my head and grumbled at my gift to lay off. This time it obeyed. I set off to find building 4B.

Just as I knew I would, I arrived late, a fact which made the other students snicker behind their hands. Konnor had gotten me into this class because my foreknowing was such a big deal, but I couldn't even manage to be on time. True, I had a pass, but it was still pretty embarrassing.

"Ah, Herr Crawford." The teacher gestured for me to take a seat by the wall. "I am Frau Sheffield. Class, this is Bradley Crawford, from America."

I stared. Almost all the other students were girls. There were only two other boys here, both a little older than me. The other thirty seats were occupied by girls about my age, and they looked like they could eat me alive. On impulse, I stood up and bowed to the class. "Guten Tag, Frau Sheffield, Damen und Herren." My face burned as I realized I didn't really know what I was talking about, I was just copying what I'd heard other students saying.

But apparently I did okay, as the teacher said, "Guten Tag, Herr Crawford. Do sit. We were just beginning a discussion on landmarks and their relevance through time."

I braced myself for a thoroughly baffling hour.

But the class didn't end after an hour.

Another two hours of rhetoric and theory dragged past, followed by an imposing homework assignment for a book I didn't even have yet, before class was released for lunch.

"Herr Crawford, a moment, please."

I stopped beside the teacher's desk. "Yes, ma'am?"

"Your textbook." She handed me a worn volume in English. It looked to be at least a dozen years old. Pencil marks and dogears decorated the pages. "We don't keep too many of these in English, but Herr Schoenberg and Frau Beldin requested you receive one. They believe it is imperative you begin your training immediately. I shall reserve my opinion until later in the term. Dismissed."

I stumbled back to the more familiar buildings, noting blankly that an armed guard made certain that the boys did not follow their female counterparts. My mind kept replaying my conversation with Frau Sheffield. I couldn't decide if she liked me or thought I was some kind of obnoxious hotshot. I'd have to impress her to stay in the class, that much was certain.

I didn't see Frettchen, but I found Trevor in the lunch room and sat with him. He looked kind of ill. I put my hand on his shoulder and asked if he was okay.

"Headache," he murmured. "It'll pass."

"Can't you go lie down or something? Get some aspirin?"

He chuckled, a much older sound than a kid my age should have been able to make. "Aspirin? Coke's cheaper."

I frowned, about to say something, and he shook his head. "Not that kind. God, don't you know anything? They don't give pain meds to telepaths. Especially aspirin. Makes the bleeding worse. It's okay, I've got contacts. They'll help me get through this."

Sudden understanding left me gaping like an idiot. That old Eric Clapton song started running through my head – Trevor was talking about cocaine! "Trev, no, listen," I tried, but he shushed me and said, "You'll learn all about telepaths in your classes, new kid. This is one of the natural facts. We get some of the worst headaches, and the only thing that helps is speed. Just, if it bothers you, country boy, look the other way."

On impulse I asked, "How much did it cost you last night?"

Trevor closed his eyes. His lower lip almost trembled. "Shut up, Crawford. You're out of your depth."

"You're supposed to be my friend! Talk to me, Trevor! Make me understand!"

"You can't understand!" he snarled. "You're not a telepath." Trevor picked up his tray and his books and hurried toward the exit.

I watched him go.

The rest of the day passed in a blur, something I was really starting to get used to. I avoided my classmates at dinner, not wanting a repeat of Trevor's outburst and not willing to listen to Frettchen's explanations. He'd warned me not to talk to Trevor about last night, and stupid me had ignored that. No doubt Frettchen would be as mad at me as Trevor was, and with pretty good reason.

I didn't bother going back to the dorm after dinner. I just lingered in the dining hall until it was time to meet with Shelton Grant, then made my way to number 519, just downstairs from Konnor.

My mind raced. I was about to be alone with a teacher, if I was lucky. If not… What if Konnor was here, waiting for me?

What if Sonndheim was?

I knocked on the door.

But only Mr. Grant was in residence. He ushered me inside, directing me to leave my books by the door and guiding me to a table in his kitchenette. I must have looked puzzled; he smiled and said, "Better acoustics, Mr. Crawford. Think of it as a soundstage of sorts. Everything sounds a little crisper off tile." He set a tape recorder on the table, then seated himself in one of the chairs. "Shall we start, then? Are you comfortable enough? I don't mind if you unfasten your collar, if you'd like. I'm not a stickler for formality."

I unbuttoned my collar and settled in my chair, leaning on the table.

"No, no, don't slouch! Sit up straight, feel your breath travel from your nose to your navel," Mr. Grant instructed, his own posture nearly rigid.

As I followed along with the lesson, I couldn't help wonder if he knew what Konnor had done to me. If he knew his friend could attack a kid like that. And I wondered what kind of friendship they had. David Smythe had told me that alliances were money here.

"Oh, sir, before I forget," I blurted. "I ran into Herr Sonndheim this morning. He said to send his regards."

Mr. Grant sat back, his eyes dark. "Did he now. Oh, of course. The hall pass. He is a particular one, Mr. Crawford. Takes note of things that are out of place. I suggest you not be such a thing in the future."

Now that wasn't at all what I'd expected, even considering all the players. At least, as far as I knew them. I was beginning to realize that Trevor was right: I _was_ out of my depth.

And it didn't look like that was going to be changing any time soon.

The lesson ended without any weirdness. Mr. Grant wrote me another note and told me to keep the pass. He wanted me to come by after dinner for the next two days. I nodded and thanked him for his help.

He showed me to the door, but paused before opening it. "If you should see Herr Sonndheim before I do," he said, "please return my regards. Wouldn't want him to think you were rude. Go straight back to your dormitory, Mr. Crawford. If you run into any trouble, show them that note. Have them call me if there's any question."

For some reason this only made me more nervous as I searched for the correct hallway. The few students about at this hour looked at me like I didn't belong there, and I really felt they may be right. I kept my head bowed and moved quickly, only wanting to get behind a secure door without any surprises.

But the surprise came when I reached the dorm room.

Trevor's bunk was stripped.

My mouth went dry as the vision hit. We'd be getting a new roommate tomorrow. Another telepath. Blond, frightened. And he'd be gone within ten days.

_Attrition._

A/N: 

_lost, in a lost world_

"Lost In a Lost World" – The Moody Blues _Seventh Sojurn_

attrition – _n._ 1. A rubbing away or wearing down by friction, especially of rock particles during transport by wind or water. 2. The act or result of gradually wearing down and exhausting an opponent by constant stress and harassment: _a war of attrition._ 3. A gradual reduction in membership or personnel through retirement, resignation, or death. 4. _Theology._ Repentance for sin motivated by fear of punishment rather than by love of God. (The Tormont Webster's Illustrated Enclycopedic Dictionary)

_Guten Tag, Frau Sheffield, Damen und Herren._ – Good day, Ms. Sheffield, ladies and gentlemen.


	12. 11

**11**

_tatoe kono koe ga todokanakute mo_

_nido to ano koro ni modorenakute mo – sakebitsuzukeru boku ga iru_

_dore dake jidai ga nagarete mo karada o yusaburu omoi no mama ni..._

_tatakaitsuzuketa akashi wa nokoru kara_

**Ken Spiderweb**

_God, no._

I was supposed to get out of here two days ago.

_I think it was two days. The doctor said something about a seizure, but I don't remember._

The lights seemed too bright, like nighttime sun. But I couldn't close my eyes again. Every time I closed my eyes, something picked the bed up and spun it around, real slow one way, then real fast the other. I just lay there and let the brightness bore through my head.

I hated this. It wasn't supposed to go this way, they were supposed to send me home.

Home. What a joke. There wasn't a home anymore, just maybe a new apartment and new gear, and a whole new fucking team. Just maybe. If I didn't have faulty brain wiring. How the hell could I still be Weiß like this? What else could I do?

My eyes squeezed shut, and sure enough the room started whirling. I wrapped my arms around myself as best I could in spite of the IV and monitor wires. Somewhere I heard a choking sound, and I realized I was sobbing.

_I'm so scared._

I was supposed to have another operation tomorrow morning, if I made it through tonight in stable condition. That meant, without another seizure.

They didn't tell me what would happen if I had one.

_Damn that Irish bastard. And damn his whole godforsaken team. They did this to me. They did this to Weiß, and Aya's sister._

The steadily increasing momentum of my pulsating room took on color, and sound. It echoed in my ears, thundering through my eyes behind closed lids until I thought I would go insane. The sound was crimson hatred, the color the ozone crackle of forked lighting. I could see it, taste it, smell it, and no matter how hard I held on, I felt myself slipping away and I realized that madness was not a place one goes, it's a spider waiting to feel the tremble of the web.

**Omi Mamoru**

"I see." I fought down the worry and disappointment and tried to speak with calm authority. "Isn't there another hospital we could – oh, did you? And?" The voice on the other end of the line spoke words that I couldn't manage to process. Something about already trying to find another specialist, and they were doing everything they could, and they really had no more information for me.

My best friend was still in hospital, his brain refusing to mend properly no matter what the surgeons tried. The crack in his skull seemed to invite infection, and the battered meat within just couldn't rally. He wasn't dying, so they said, but if they couldn't solve the problems quickly, he'd never be quite the same again.

Ken was supposed to leave the hospital two days ago. I had been getting ready to go pick him up when they called to tell me he'd suffered a series of seizures that morning and they'd have to keep him indefinitely. When the call came tonight I feared for the worst, but it was only more of the same. They couldn't get the seizures under control, so they had scheduled yet another surgery. Another pointless invasion.

With a harsh movement I wiped at my eyes, then spoke forcefully into the receiver. "I don't care who you are or who you work for. Give me the chief surgeon, now! No, I won't hold! You get him on the phone!"

My hand trembled, but I refused to back down. I took a deep and bitter breath while listening to the phone click through several relays. Finally a calm, confident voice came on the line.

"Tojou-sensei, may I help you?"

Tojou. The neurosurgeon. Fair enough – if he didn't have the answers, he didn't deserve his post. "Takatori Mamoru speaking. Hidaka Ken – his condition is unacceptable. Why have you not fulfilled your obligation?"

"Takatori-san, forgive me, but his injury is stubborn. He has suffered a diffuse axonal injury with spider's web fracturing of the skull. This means –"

"I know what it means. It means his skull is a jigsaw puzzle. It means his brain is severely bruised in the back from the impact and torn up in the front from the sudden change in direction. That doesn't change the fact that you assured me that you could fix it." I had to get control of my anger before the surgeon heard me hyperventilating. I closed my eyes and counted to five. "I want honesty, Tojou. Can you help him, or can you not?"

"It's not that simple, Takatori-san!"

"Yes. It is. Can you? Or can you not? Pick one before I answer for you."

There was a long pause, and for a moment I wondered if he had dropped the phone. Then: "I am sorry, sir. I have done all that I can for him."

"Very well." I sighed away from the receiver. If Tojou heard it, he probably thought I was smoking. "Get him ready to leave."

"Sir, you can't!"

"Can't I? Do you forget to whom you are speaking, Tojou?" I glared at the phone as though the neurosurgeon stood there in person. "I am moving him to another hospital. See that it's done."

"I won't be held responsible for anything that happens if you move that man," Tojou said, his tone more afraid than defiant.

"I'm not asking you to. There is a facility in Switzerland, with a medical team standing by. I'll be there to collect him within the hour." Before Tojou could argue, I hung up on him.

**A/N:**

_tatoe kono koe ga todokanakute mo_

_nido to ano koro ni modorenakute mo – sakebitsuzukeru boku ga iru_

_dore dake jidai ga nagarete mo karada o yusaburu omoi no mama ni..._

_tatakaitsuzuketa akashi wa nokoru kara_

And even when my voice doesn't reach you

Even when we can't return to that time again – I'm here, continuing to cry out to you

Even when those times stream by like the feelings that make my body shake...

Because the evidence of our continued fighting remains

"dears" – Gackt _Mars_

This chapter takes place near midnight. Omi had left orders with the hospital to notify him of any change in Ken's condition, no matter the hour. So, while Yohji is wandering around drunk…

**Ken Spiderweb**

Ken isn't accustomed to such extreme physical weakness, and it's scaring the hell out of him. Problem is, as an agent of Weiß, he has to face his fear alone – at least, until Omi can arrange a different kind of solution.

Medical notes, for the morbidly curious:

"Diffuse Axonal Injury" (brain injury) – injury to the brain in many areas. An example may be a long tumble down a flight of steps with the brain hitting the inside of the skull many times.

"Contre-coup type" contusions – when the falling head strikes the ground it decelerates abruptly while the semi-fluid brain continues moving towards the point of impact. This causes more severe contusions in the area diametrically opposite the point of impact. Such "contre-coup" contusions occur where the brain glides over the irregular, jagged contours of the skull interior and are usually more severe than the corresponding coup-type contusions.

These are definitely in keeping with the damage inflicted by Farfarello in the final episode – nasty, nasty stuff.

As for the skull itself:

"Spider's web" fracture – radiating lines connected by concentric fracture rings. Though Ken refers to a spider's web, he doesn't actually remember that this is also the nature of his injury.

And, a bit of trivia:

Skull fracture can result from merely walking into a fixed obstruction (73 Newtons or 5 foot pounds), from the 4.5 kg adult head falling from a height of 1 metre onto a hard surface (510 N), the head falling from a standing position (873 N), running into a obstruction (1020 N) or a 100g golf ball or stone thrown with moderate force against the temple.

**Omi Mamoru**

What he refuses to accept for duty, he will accept for a friend. Though the attitudes of Takatori are repugnant to him, Omi knows that they are necessary. Rest assured, Tojou-sensei will be investigated thoroughly before all is said and done. If he didn't do anything wrong, he'll be fine, but gods help him if he screwed up.


	13. 12

**12**

_There is no dark side of the moon, really. Matter of fact, it's all dark._

I got back to my dorm right before curfew. True to their word, my fellows were waiting up for me, nearly jumping at the door as I came in.

"You all right?" Frettchen asked, watching my face and probably trying to look in my head.

"Yeah, I'm okay," I murmured, wanting only to sleep. Konnor had kept me at his apartment only long enough for the codeine to wear off before sending me back to my room, and now the pain was starting to rise up again. His words echoed in my mind, and I turned to Julian. "You'd better lose those pills, Konnor said there'd be a search."

"Konnor?" Julian said, puzzled. Then his expression changed and he asked, "Konrad Schoenberg?"

I felt myself blush. "He told me to call him that."

Julian glanced at Frettchen, who shook his head and turned away. With a sigh Julian said, "Don't blurt that out so readily, Elvis. Pets get noticed."

Anger swelled in me, anger at a dozen other things and it turned and aimed itself at Julian. "I'm not his pet!" I shouted, losing all sense of cool. "I just do what I'm told, and I still end up getting hurt! What am I supposed to do, disobey them?"

"If you want to end up like Trevor, yes."

I blinked and stared at Donley.

He stopped pulling stuff out of his own cache and glared at me. "They kill you if you fight, Crawford. Sometimes they kill you if you don't fight, but it's usually the safer road."

The anger wouldn't leave. It had been growing for too long. "Safe? Nothing's safe here! You said it yourself, it doesn't matter if you fight or not!"

Donley grabbed my shoulders and shook me, banging my back against the bedframe. "There's fighting, and there's _fighting_, Crawford. There are ways to get things done, ways that work. Figure it out."

"Where's Smythe?" Georgiev asked, his tone expressionless.

"Don't," Frettchen snarled as the lights-out warning sounded. "He'll straighten out by morning."

I gathered my dignity and struggled up into my bunk. Sleep roared over me like an unwelcome storm.

Morning came too early, with the sudden opening of our door and a flood of light.

"Stand to!" Smythe barked from the doorway as two other guys swept past him.

Everyone leaped from their beds to stand at attention in the middle of the room. I did my best to hurry, but managed to be the last one up.

Smythe kept watch as the two guys tore through our belongings and searched the bedding. Every now and then I could hear a rattle or a clink as something or other ended up in their bags like a weird trick-or-treat buffet.

Within ten minutes it was over. Smythe took the bags and told us what they'd found: a handful of headache pills, two half-smoked cigarettes, some cash, and…my old watch.

I started to protest, but Frettchen elbowed me in the side.

Smythe looked sharply at me and said, "Crawford, didn't you get a timepiece from requisitions?"

"Yes, sir," I replied, "but –"

"Your talent entitles you to a watch." His eyes looked sad as he added, "Not two of them." He folded the bags shut and followed his assistants out the door. "We'll inform you of any actions. Stand down."

My mind reeled. That watch had been one of the few things I'd brought from home, and now it had been taken away.

"Good move on the smokes, Don," Clifford said, reaching up under his mattress where they hadn't searched and pulling out a handful of cigarettes. He offered them to the telepath.

"If they didn't find anything, they'd know we were holding out," Donley said, taking half.

"Sorry about your watch," Frettchen said. "Maybe Smythe managed to nick it himself. You never know, it might come back."

I shook my head. "It doesn't matter," I whispered. I'd lost so much already, what was one old watch worth, anyway?

"Thanks for the heads-up, Elvis," Julian said, resting a hand on my shoulder. "This could have been really ugly."

Since we were all up early, we made use of the showers before all the water went cold. The bruises were really starting to show on me, but I didn't care. They already knew, may as well not worry about it anymore.

Back in the dorm room, I looked through my textbooks and tried to remember where we were at in my classes. German didn't matter now, as I'd be getting specialized training with Shelton Grant. I felt myself frown as I wondered just how specialized it might get. Everything about the guy reminded me of someone who just might fondle young boys, though I'd noticed nothing of the sort with Konnor until it had happened.

The things I'd presumed were proving themselves to be of little use; I wondered just how many other presumptions in my life were way off course. I'd never thought of myself as a bigot, but that was back home. Now I realized that I'd been guilty of thinking the worst of someone by they way they seemed. Kids my own age were proving themselves as brave as firefighters, while strong and kind-seeming men turned out to be child molesters.

About the only one I was pretty sure I had pegged correctly was Sonndheim.

At the usual time, Smythe returned with our mail. He was alone, and I finally noticed the dull red burn marks on his right cheek and hand. A chill trailed down my spine.

He gave me another pass to the requisitions office, to pick up my gear for the self-defense class. His voice whispered in my head. ::You all right, Crawford?::

I formed the thought as carefully as I could, just like they'd told us in class. ::Yes, thanks. What about you?::

Smythe smiled and broke contact. He palmed something and passed it to Georgiev, then left the room in silence.

After he was gone, I let the curiosity pop out with a question. "What happened to him?"

Clifford sighed and looked at me the way my brother used to, when I was being a "little pest". "That's what can happen to you if your gun misfires and you're lucky enough to drop it in time."

"He has a gun?" I blurted, feeling very naïve again.

"Come on, we'll be late for breakfast."

The day crawled by in a deepening haze of pain. My body hurt, and it didn't seem like it would stop hurting anytime soon. The self-defense class was pure torture – even though I was starting late, the teacher expected me to keep up with the other kids, who looked at me like I was total dirt.

Then I had to deal with the showers.

I'd only just started to feel safe in my dorm shower, but here I had to strip and wash in front of twenty other boys I didn't know. Hell, I didn't even know their talents – the workout uniform was like what they wear for karate and judo and stuff, but all dark grey.

The afternoon classes were almost a welcome reprieve compared to that mess. I listened attentively to the discussion on psi talents and their strengths and weaknesses, hoping to learn something that would make me feel safer.

I already knew that the telepaths' greatest weakness was in their connection to self, and for the empaths it was the possibility of overload. But I wasn't afraid of those.

What I wanted was an edge on the redshirts, a bit of insight that would prove useful if they ever tried to hurt me again.

What I got wasn't what I expected.

"The family of psychokinetic talents is best known for its visible effects," the teacher repeated, "those things that affect matter as we know it. But what we are interested in today is the invisible, or waveform, effect."

I sat up a little straighter. A whisper of Sight informed me that this would be more important than it seemed, so I prepared to take notes more closely.

"A well-trained telekinetic can produce a sort of shield or barrier around himself and several other people within a small area, say ten or twenty meters in diameter. One school of thought holds that this shield is made up of gaseous particles; another, that it is a manifestation of human will itself. Until we have the answer to that, it is enough to know that it is a potent effect. Though invisible, this barrier can be used to stop bullets or provide protection in the case of a building collapse. It may even…"

The room spun around me and everything went dark.

I woke up in a strange room. Bright, cold light assaulted my mind.

Konnor looked down at me, a worried expression on his face. "What do you remember, Bradley?"

_Remember? When?_ I struggled to recall what had happened, where I was.

"You fainted in one of your classes," he went on, absently brushing the hair back from my forehead with one white-gloved hand.

"Where am I?" I whispered.

"When you didn't come around immediately, they sent you to medical. The doctor called me."

I sat up slowly, allowing Konnor to brace my back a little. "I don't remember."

"What _do_ you remember?"

I frowned, images wandering into my head. "There was a tower," I mumbled, "and water, and we were all falling…" Time snapped back into its proper track like the needle on an old phonograph record, and I looked up at Konnor. "Herr Norton was talking about the physical talents, and waveform effects."

Konnor frowned, looked around as if to make sure no one else had heard me. "A vision? Strong enough to knock you out for twenty minutes?" Lowering his voice, he asked, "What else did you See, Bradley? Who was with you?"

The vision scattered like startled cockroaches when the light goes on. I shook my head. "I'm sorry, I don't remember anymore."

If he was upset that I'd apologized, he didn't say anything about it. Konnor looked at his watch, then sighed. "If you do get any more of this, I want to hear about it. Understood? Just inform your dorm head that you need to speak with your mentor. Herr Smythe, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir."

Konnor escorted me from the medical center. As we left, I turned back and felt my breath catch in my throat.

Though today was bright and clear, that was the building I'd Seen when I'd first arrived and Konnor had taken me on a tour: the building I'd be entering on the day of no sun.

"Bradley?" Konnor gripped my arm tightly as though afraid I would fall.

"I'm all right," I whispered, though I didn't feel all right at all.

Throughout dinner, homework, and my language lesson with Mr. Grant, one thought kept echoing through my mind. I couldn't concentrate, I could barely muddle through. By the time I returned to my bunk and collapsed on the thin mattress, the thought had become a mantra.

_Is this how madness starts?_

**A/N:**

_There is no dark side of the moon, really. Matter of fact, it's all dark._

(spoken) – Pink Floyd _Dark Side of the Moon_

For a precognitive, loss of a watch is comparable to loss of time itself. Bradley's schedule has been disrupted repeatedly since his arrival, his personal safety has been violated, and now he begins to fear madness. Coincidence? I think not.


	14. 13

**13**

_Run, rabbit, run_

Either I'm already crazy, or I'm immune to it.

I watched in silence as two students in Healer greens and a teacher physically restrained the young blueshirt and removed him from the classroom. I didn't know the boy's talent or his name, but I would never forget his screams.

My newest habit made itself manifest: I glanced at my watch, checking the date more than the time. March 20, 1987. Absently I raised my left hand to my lips and gnawed on a fingernail; when I couldn't get any more nail off it, I started in on the side of the fingertip itself. The skin there was tough and roughened from weeks of chewing.

When I realized what I was doing, I made myself act casual and calm and lowered my hand. Moving slowly I placed my hands on the desktop, so as not to be noticed doing anything unexpected.

Tomorrow was the first day of spring. I was thirteen years old. And I was starting to lose my grip on the passage of time.

Visions would explode into my day, stealing moments or hours. If I was lucky, I could pretend nothing had happened and just get on with things. If I wasn't lucky, I'd find myself in a teacher's office or in medical.

Frau Sheffield changed my schedule so I'd have an hour a day with her right before dinner, in addition to the once-a-week three-hour session in building 4B.

Mr. Grant changed my schedule, too. I was doing well enough with the language lessons that he put me down to three sessions per week instead of five.

I couldn't remember where to be anymore, or when to be there. It was as if whenever I had a handle on things, someone would up and change it.

And speaking of changes, even my body was in on the joke. I was getting taller. I'd had to get a new jacket and have my trousers let out once already, back in the middle of winter. If this kept up, I'd be as tall as Julian or Georgiev before summer.

Summer. No break here, no fields, no fishing. No fishing, no trespassing. I felt a weird loose sort of giggle build up in my chest, fought it down.

There were two other boys in the girls' classes, both precogs like me.

One was afraid of his own shadow.

The other…sometimes he forgot how to speak.

I think the girls were making bets on which one of us would snap first.

The guys in my dorm weren't making bets. We'd lost Clifford back in January, I think it was. Just like Trevor – now you see him, now you don't. Gone, as if he'd never been.

Donley adopted his orphaned cigarettes.

David Smythe now sported a narrow, puckered scar along his jaw and throat, where the burn hadn't been allowed to heal right. He never spoke of it, and neither did I. But the guy who had raped me seemed to have vanished, leaving his two buddies leaderless. I saw the lookout once, fawning after an older kid like a jackal at the lion's heels.

Konnor's gift to me of the self-defense class did some good. My leg muscles got strong enough so I could get a good running start.

Now if I could just keep from going crazy.

"Hey, Elvis!"

I looked up, then down. I had to shove my glasses back up my nose before I could see anything. "What?"

Julian regarded me from his bunk. He'd been ill lately, with shadows around his eyes. We all knew it was from his talent. Object readers don't do well in places like Rosenkreuz; it was like having itching powder in your clothes all the time. Or nerve gas. Gloves were standard issue – some needed canvas, some wool. Some, like Julian, wore leather lined with felt. But gloves only protected the hands.

I closed my book. "What is it, Julian?"

Frettchen heaved a sigh and said, "I've been talking to you for twenty minutes. You were nodding and mumbling answers, but Julian said you weren't even really here. What's _with_ you lately?"

My spit tasted sour as I swallowed. Fear washed over me until Georgiev grabbed hold of my ankle. A sense of borrowed calm replaced my panic, until my head started to clear. "Thanks, Georgie," I whispered, grateful that the telempath didn't mind bringing me out of the fog and never asked for payment.

"If people notice you doing that, you're a goner," Frettchen murmured. "Maybe your mentor can help or something."

The last thing I wanted was for Konnor to know I was falling apart.

Donley either read my mind or read my expression. "He already knows, Crawford. He has to know, you've been spacing out in class."

I couldn't tell them that I dreaded being alone with Konnor. He'd never touched me like that again, but I could see in his eyes that he wanted to. He wanted many things.

Then Georgiev said, "What about Grant? Can you talk to him?"

"Talk to him? That's all I do!" I said, trying to make a joke. It fell flat on my own ears.

Fifteen minutes later, I was in David Smythe's office, and he was on the phone with Shelton Grant. I'd told Smythe that I needed to change my next appointment with Mr. Grant from tomorrow to tonight, if it wasn't inconvenient. I stood there listening to half the conversation, hoping I wasn't about to get myself in a whole lot of trouble.

"Go on, then," Smythe said, hanging up the phone. "You have your pass?"

"Yes, sir. Thank you." I hurried out before I could change my mind.

When I arrived at Mr. Grant's apartment, I gathered my courage and knocked.

The door swung open, and Shelton Grant offered me a little smile as I came in. "I hear your schedule has become a bit ragged, Mr. Crawford. You're doing quite well in your language work, perhaps we could arrange for a two-session week?"

Voice low, I said, "Actually, sir, I need your advice."

He raised an eyebrow, then led me into his kitchen, where we usually did our voice lessons. "Advice? About what?"

I took a deep breath and told him. "I'm losing time, Mr. Grant. And I'm scared. I know what happens to most male precogs, and I don't want it to happen to me." I didn't tell him I thought I'd have been fine if they'd just left me in Kentucky. There wasn't anything to be done for that now.

Mr. Grant studied my face for several long moments, then asked, "Why are you speaking with me, and not with General Schoenberg, Mr. Crawford?"

My stomach knotted. He wasn't going to help me.

Then I noticed that he was staring intently at me, with an odd expression in his eyes. I felt myself scowl a bit.

As if he'd been waiting for a signal from me, Shelton Grant glanced casually over my shoulder, and up. Then he said, "You said you were afraid. I can understand that you wouldn't want to disappoint your mentor.

Understanding flashed through me: we weren't really alone here. Someone was watching; or worse, listening to everything we said.

I stood a little straighter and nodded. "Yes, sir." I felt the need to say more, so I told him, "Frau Sheffield is helping, but something just isn't right."

"And rather than wait until tomorrow, you took the initiative to seek assistance now, before it could get any worse."

"Yes, sir."

"All I can offer you is a call to your mentor, Mr. Crawford. I have no authority over your schedule beyond your evening language classes." His eyes seemed to say more, but I couldn't understand it. "Wait here." He went over to his desk, then picked up the phone.

This wasn't right. I regretted ever coming to him for help, but I was stuck with the consequences now.

When he returned to the kitchen, Mr. Grant handed me a hastily written note. "Go on upstairs. Herr General is not angry with you. In fact, he sounded relieved that you'd come around enough to seek help at all."

"Thank you, sir. I'll be back for my lesson tomorrow," I told him as I made for the door.

"No need. Herr Schoenberg will inform me of your new schedule. I've no doubt it will be changing."

As I trudged up the stairs to Konnor's floor, a realization rang through my head and chased itself in circles. Nothing here was as it seemed, ever, and no one here was safe. I might have put Shelley in real danger by going to him for help, and I hadn't even thought about it until it was too late.

Rosenkreuz had just become more frightening.

When Konnor opened his door, his face looked strained. He still managed a thin smile as he motioned for me to sit on the sofa.

A bottle of Coke and a half sandwich waited for me.

I fought back the surge of feeling that this simple gesture brought up in me. I didn't want to feel grateful, I didn't want to feel like I missed him – but right then I felt both.

"Your language tutor called. Said that you were having problems, that you were too ashamed to come to me for help." Konnor sat next to me, his eyes dark. "This is a bad habit to get into, Bradley. Twice now you have disregarded your mentor in favor of your own solutions. Granted, Americans have a well-deserved reputation for independence and brazenness, but it will not stand you in good stead here." His tone softened as he said, "I don't know what you expect from me, but I assure you that you have no better advocate. Do you understand?"

I looked up from my drink, and nodded. "I understand, Konnor."

He rested a hand on my leg. I don't know if he meant it as a reassuring gesture, but it made my stomach tighten up. He didn't seem to notice, or if he did notice, he didn't care.

He asked me what the problem was, and I told him about the missing time and the visions. "It's like the fast-forward gets stuck on, and I lose the _now_. By the time _now_ turns into _then_, it's way gone. I'm forgetting classwork I turned in weeks ago, and searching through my books for assignments that aren't even due yet. And people I should know, I don't, not right away, while people I don't know are waltzing through my dreams while I'm still awake!" I felt foolish saying it like that, but the words just tumbled out and I was too tired to stop them. "Time is losing its meaning, and it's taking me with it. Right down the rabbit hole."

Konnor listened to all this with that same concerned frown, the kind of look one wears in the company of a non-threatening lunatic.

I rambled to a halt and waited for him to say something, anything.

Konnor sighed and sort of absently started caressing my thigh, as if that helped him think.

I sighed too. If this was the price of his help, I'd pay it. I'd give him whatever he wanted, if he could keep me from going crazy.

But Konnor didn't overreach propriety, he just petted my leg like he was stroking a cat or something. My body felt electrified. I caught myself starting to enjoy it more than I should, almost wishing he'd slip and touch a little higher. Almost? Heck, there was no "almost" about it. No, part of me definitely wished for that gentle touch, and no memory of Konnor's violence would dissuade it. All that mattered was now: no past, no future, no cares but one.

Then his hand cupped me and squeezed, and I very nearly embarrassed myself.

Konnor smiled and said, "Welcome to puberty, Bradley. You're growing, changing. There is no way to predict just how this will shape your visions, though I'll hazard a guess as to how it will shape your body." His hand rubbed me decisively through my trousers. "You've grown taller over the past few months. I suspect you'll be taller than me soon enough. Large hands, thick wrists – if I were to place a bet, I'd say you'll be needing yet another jacket before next fall. When you're done filling out, I think you'll be a stunning man, Bradley. Handsome, tall, intelligent…" His voice trailed off in a sigh.

Konnor licked his lips and I thought he was going to kiss me. As long as his hand kept moving, I didn't care what he did. My eyes squeezed shut, blocking out the world and letting me focus on just one dimension of my being. It was a damn sight better than being afraid, or feeling crazy, even if it would only last a few minutes at best. A temporary reprieve? Why, yes, thank you, sir! I'll deal with reality in a moment.

He stopped, and I bit back a murmur of disappointment. When had I decided I wanted this from him? Oh, that's right – when I realized it would buy me time to feel sane again, if only for a little while. I felt the sofa shift as he moved, then heard the coffee table slide across the carpet.

Then Konnor knelt between my feet and unfastened my trousers. My heart sped up, the blood pounding in my veins. Cool air tickled my hard-on, followed by warm fingers, then hot, wet suction. I groaned. This was the sensation that haunted my dreams! A corner of my mind babbled that he would likely want the same in return, like that first time when I didn't want to. Tonight I didn't care.

Konnor slipped his hands under my butt and pulled me toward him, his mouth sliding around me all the way to the baby hairs. Then he worked his way back to the tip, and I felt a jolt of tension in my balls. My breath caught in my chest. Konnor's tongue teased the fat little head, swirling around it faster and faster until it felt so good it almost hurt.

I tried to back up a little, get away from the sensation overload, but his hands gripped my butt and kept me right where I was. My hands clutched at his shoulders, trying to push him back, but he was stronger. By this time I was panting for air, the exquisite and the painful blurring into a white-hot rush of _NOW_.

A pitiful mewling reached my ears, and I realized it came from me. I didn't have wind enough to make any more noise than that, I just whimpered and shuddered as the yet-unmapped sensations rolled over and through me.

Konnor echoed the whimper, moaning deep in his throat as I spurted into his mouth.

Then he gently squeezed my cock, pulling like he was milking a cow or something. I lay back against the sofa and let him do whatever he wanted; I'd decided that it wasn't too high a price to pay after all, considering my other options. All he did, though, was squeeze and lick, then gently tuck everything away in my pants and run the zipper back up for me.

"Excuse me a moment," he said, rising and heading for the bathroom.

I finished buttoning my pants, then started in on arguing with myself over what had just happened. I hadn't wanted it, not until he'd started touching me, anyway. Then my body had just made up its own mind and hung me out to dry.

Puberty, he'd said. That was the time that boys trade their brains for their balls, according to my grandmother. She'd said something like that to my ma after Jimmy had tried some fool stunt to impress a girl and wound up with a broken arm.

Great.

Konnor returned from his bathroom looking rather pleased with himself and still a bit excited. His color was high, his eyes bright and possessive. He smiled at me, a genuine, warm smile, and I found myself smiling back. If I had to be someone's "pet" here, I suppose I could do worse. At least Konnor kept himself clean and had a bit of dignity about it all. Some would probably call him handsome, but I had to admit he wasn't really my type. That almost made me laugh, thinking of a man as "my type" or "not my type". I'd always expected to find "my type" in a Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition, not a lineup of haughty German men!

"I expect your head's a little clearer now, Bradley?" Konnor seated himself next to me again, lounging like a lion.

"Yes, actually, it is," I replied, surprised at the truth of it. The panic that had sent me from my dorm had died sometime in the last half hour. Startled, I checked my watch: half an hour it _had_ been, from arriving in Konnor's apartment up to this very minute. I stared at the watch, then looked up at my mentor.

That real smile still graced his features, lighting his eyes with gentle warmth.

"I've got my time back!" I blurted, gesturing at my watch for emphasis.

"Whenever you feel that panic rise up, Bradley, you need to break the cycle," Konnor explained in a soft voice. "Request an exercise pass, cultivate a sparring partner. Or a playmate, if you prefer; it's a common enough thing. And you know that my door is always open to you."

I knew what he meant by that, and I nodded that I knew.

"Find yourself a diversion, something strong enough to distract you from your own doubts." Konnor leaned toward me as if to emphasize his next statement. "You can drive your visions, or be driven by them. True, until you learn the difference it will be difficult, but that is why I placed you with Frau Sheffield. The moment you allow fear to speak for you, insanity becomes a real possibility. I did not bring you here to lose you to madness." He touched my cheek, prompting me to look into his eyes as he said, "You are my star, Bradley. My light and my hope. I will see you through this."

As if he'd caught himself showing too much honest feeling, Konnor sat back and changed his tone to one much more businesslike. "Before you allow anxiety to disable you again, learn to spot it while it's still small enough to handle. If your visions are interfering with your classwork, inform your teachers. They know who you are, they know your gift, they will not be surprised if you need a little extra care. If your visions are interfering with each other, inform Frau Sheffield. She knows techniques for taming them. And if your visions are interfering with your safety, you are to come directly to me, Bradley. None of this going to your dorm head or your classmates or your teachers – if it gets so bad that you fear for your mind, I need to know about it."

I nodded again, still almost giddy from relief both physical and mental. I wondered how tonight's intimacy played into his plans, whether it was his preferred method of shaking me out of my panic or what-have-you. Having no good way to ask, I decided not to worry about it. He hadn't hurt me this time, hadn't demanded anything at all, and I was okay with that.

Of course, I hadn't left his lair yet, either.

"Now, finish your drink while I see to your schedule." Konnor rose and made for the desk, leaving me to ponder his intentions.

I sipped my soda and considered what it might mean to be seen as his "pet". The other kids seemed to leave pets alone for the most part, as if they were afraid of retribution above and beyond regular punishment. Does one offer to become a pet, or just follow instructions and end up one by default?

My mama would cry if she knew what I was considering. I stared at my lap in shame.

That feeling of being watched crept over me so slowly I almost didn't recognize it; then the hairs on the back of my neck lifted, sending a chill down my spine. I glanced over at Konnor, seated at his desk and writing. Then I glanced up as though expecting to see a floating eyeball hovering in the middle of the room. And for a brief terrible moment I _did_ see one, but it wasn't looking at me at all.

It was watching Konnor.

**A/N:**

_Run, rabbit, run_

"Breathe" – Pink Floyd _Dark Side of the Moon_

Not so long ago, doctors manipulated women to have orgasms to alleviate symptoms of nervous tension. While the ethical side of this equation comes up short, the effectiveness cannot be argued. During sex, the brain is flooded with hormones and other mood-enhancers, all courtesy of Mother Nature, and their effect can linger for many hours. The human body is an amazingly self-regulating machine, if we could only learn to trust it. Sometimes your own body is its own best medicine for what ails your mind – why else would the brain be receptive to opiates and other mood-altering substances, if the body did not produce similar chemicals for just such emergencies?

Now, was Konnor's behavior ethical? Tough question – a shota-phile could argue that he had learned his lesson and was now trying a tender seduction to win over his young star. One could just as well argue that the man simply did not know how to stop. In any case, ethics at Rosenkreuz would be a different breed altogether, and by those standards, Konnor seems to be one of the good guys.

For the moment.


	15. 14

**14**

_The Eye was rimmed with fire, but was itself glazed, yellow as a cat's,   
watchful and intent, and the black slit of its pupil opened on a pit,  
a window into nothing._

"Here." Konnor handed me three pieces of paper.

I blinked stupidly at them for a moment, the vision of the eye lingering too long for my liking. Then I focused on the first page and saw it was a medical pass. My skin went cold. "What's this for?" I asked through numb lips. For some reason, the thought of going into the medical facility scared the crap out of me.

"You are to have a few days off, due to exhaustion," Konnor stated. "All you need do is report to medical first thing in the morning, show them that note, and they will take care of the details. You are to rest, and get current on your coursework. Your new schedule will begin next Wednesday."

"What will they do to me?" I whispered, dreading I-don't-know-what.

Konnor raised an eyebrow. "I expect they will verify the exhaustion and send you back to your dorm. Why do you ask?"

"No reason," I murmured, trying not to remember the MRI chamber. I shuffled the papers and looked at the next one down – my newest schedule. This one didn't look so bad. There was actually time enough in between the classes to get from one building to the next without running. There was even time to use a bathroom while enough other guys would be in there to provide cover; I'd learned real fast not to enter a seemingly empty bathroom, or one with only a couple of guys in it. Safety in numbers, as they say; it couldn't be more true.

I still had extra classes with Frau Sheffield, though the three-hour block was now gone, replaced by three hour-long evening sessions. On the other nights, I'd be seeing Mr. Grant at the usual time; I found this oddly reassuring.

In addition to the self-defense class, I now had an hour a day set aside for exercise. I wasn't too sure about that, but I figured it couldn't hurt to try it. Besides, the third note was a request for an open pass to the gym, and as someone had once told me, open passes were like gold here.

Konnor placed a hand on my shoulder and said, "Now, I would suggest you return to your dorm and get some rest. I will be unavailable for a few hours, I trust you will be all right?"

"Yes, I'll be okay," I told him. "Am I supposed to see Mr. Grant tomorrow night?"

"Ah, no, Bradley. Not until next Thursday. Remember, I'm giving you a few days off, and that includes your language sessions."

"Oh, right." I fidgeted a little, not sure if I should do this but thinking it was more right than not. "If you see him first, would you tell him I said thank you?"

Konnor smiled, but it wasn't the warm smile anymore. This looked like a mask, all cool and proper. "It isn't really your place, but I'm certain he would appreciate the sentiment." Without further ado, he herded me toward the door. "Good evening, Bradley. I'll check on your progress over the weekend."

As I turned my toes dormward, my mind whirled, trying to figure out how the heck I'd managed to offend him so fast. He'd gone from too nice to ice cold in the blink of an eye.

The eye…

I realized all of a sudden that Konnor hadn't been offended, he'd been scared, afraid I'd blurt out something that could get him in trouble. He was being watched, too; and, like Shelley, he knew it.

I paused, leaning against the wall as comprehension threatened to drop me at the knees. Konnor knew he was being spied on, and he hadn't warned me. Of course, why would he? I was just a kid; that's as good as property to these people. But that wasn't the worst of it. Each time he'd done things to me it had started on that sofa. The first time he'd been crazy drunk, and carried me off to his bedroom. But he'd stopped before doing anything really bad to me. I'd thought it was because he drank too much and couldn't, but now it didn't make sense.

This time he was cold sober. If he wanted me so much, why didn't he just go ahead and do it? We both knew I couldn't fight him off no matter how hard I tried, all he had to do was stake his claim and be done with it.

But he hadn't…why?

Then it hit me: tonight had been staged. Hell, maybe it had all been just for show right from the start.

As for tonight, maybe Konnor wanted it to look like he was having fun with me, but he wasn't really into it. If he had been, I don't think he would have abandoned me to take care of things by himself in the bathroom. I forced my feet to move as I continued mulling this over, revisiting the moments of the evening one by one.

Smythe had called Grant, basically washed his hands of the situation. Grant tipped me off that he was being watched, and then called Konnor. Konnor…

If whoever was watching them was also listening in on their phone calls, they'd have known that I was on my way to Konnor for help. And I've been here long enough to know that help doesn't come for free. So to keep everything looking right, Konnor took payment for his assistance, and in return I had time off and an open hall pass.

I'd have to play it real careful about that pass, so no one started thinking that I'd gotten it too cheaply. Because if Grant and Konnor were being watched, then so was I.

Then again, this could all be a bunch of paranoid bullcrap.

But that feeling of being watched, it had happened too many times, and now it showed up with visions that were downright ominous. No, Konnor had played his part, and led me through my own steps without faltering, though I couldn't guess the audience we had performed for.

"Can't you?"

I bit back a yell as Herr Sonndheim materialized out of the shadows. For a moment I thought he'd been following me.

He took a raspy breath and whispered, "I asked you a question, boy." He scowled, making his eyebrows merge into one shaggy line of peppered gray. "Or have you misplaced your line of thought?"

"No, sir," I gasped, not sure which question I was supposed to be answering but figuring it fit both just as well.

Sonndheim smiled, his eyes narrowing into steely needles edged in frost. "You should be more careful, Herr Crawford. We are most often judged by the company we keep. There are those here who are more beneficial than others, especially for one in your…position. Loyalty should never be a question, should it, Herr Crawford?"

My skin crawled as I replied, "No, sir, it should not." Was he calling Konnor a traitor? But why?

"Why indeed." Sonndheim turned and walked away, calling back over his shoulder, "Good evening, Herr Crawford."

I nearly ran back to the dorm. He'd pulled those thoughts right out of my head! Had I betrayed Konnor somehow without my even knowing? Damn it! If I wasn't worried enough about going crazy from my Sight, now I had to have that creepy bastard fingering around inside my brain!

When I flung open the door, my looming hysteria vanished in a rush of dread – Julian's bunk was empty. "No!" I moaned. "Not you too!"

"Whoa, hey, it's all right!" Donley jumped down from his bunk and gripped my shoulders. "Julian's in with Smythe. He puked in his bed, we had to strip it. He's trying to talk his way out of going to medical."

The mixed smells of vomit and disinfectant spray hit me then, and I reeled, clutching at Donley's skinny shoulder to keep from falling.

"Are you okay, Crawford?" he asked, steering me toward the empty bunk next to Julian's. "You look worse off than before you left!"

"Where are the others?" I asked back, feeling suddenly very wrong. It was like my internal gyroscope tipped without my wanting it to, leaving me off-center and more than a little scared.

"In the showers." He blushed a little as he added, "They got stuff on them when Julian got sick; I ran outside and barfed in a trash can. I don't do well watching other people vomit."

In spite of myself I laughed, and this seemed to bring the whole night back to reality. "Yeah, I guess I'm okay. My mentor set me up with a new schedule, told me to get a medical pass for a few days off." I debated telling him about the watching thing and my run-in with Sonndheim, but I really didn't want to bring anyone else into this mess. I felt bad enough involving Mr. Grant and David Smythe.

The door opened. Frettchen and Georgiev trudged in, visibly weary and a little sick themselves, though they both spared me a smile.

"Well, at least we got one of them back tonight," Frettchen said as he flopped onto his bunk. "How'd it go, Kentucky?"

"It went, I guess."

Frettchen gave me one of those looks like he knew I was bullshitting or hiding something, but didn't say anything.

"How's Jules?" Donley asked, cupping a cigarette in his hands and lighting it.

"He's still talking with Smythe," Georgiev replied. He shook his head and said, "It doesn't look good. He's been having too many problems lately."

And I'd missed it all. One of my few friends was spiraling out of control, and I'd missed all the signs. Not that I could have done much to help, but it still made me feel rotten. I swallowed. "Anything I can do?"

"Find him a better future," Georgie said, his voice flat.

A better future? My overworked mind took that and ran with it, right into the danger zone. I clamped down on it right fast, hopefully before anyone caught a glimpse of it. How could one skinny farmkid change the world like that?

The room spun, and I saw myself through a mirror: all grown up, looking just like Konnor imagined I would. My older eyes gleamed like polished stone.

The vision faded, leaving me gasping. I pushed the memory of it way to the back of my head; I had the feeling that this was another thing I didn't want found.

Voices outside brought everything to a standstill. The four of us turned toward the door, each laying his own odds on our fifth roommate.

Smythe escorted Julian into the room, sparing a brief glare at Donley's incriminating smoke cloud, and shut the door. Julian looked pale, the kind of pale that has a frog-belly green underneath the white. He sagged onto his bare bunk and leaned back against the cold wall, his eyes closed. He looked like he was already dead.

"Watch him," Smythe instructed. "I'm taking a chance, here. I don't want him to collapse because of my negligence, but…" He shook his head and bummed a cigarette from Donley. "I won't send any of my boys to medical until it's the last resort. I'm going to trust Julian on this one." Smythe glanced skyward as though praying, then stated, "If he dies in his sleep, one of you come and tell me immediately; the others, drag him to the showers. Understood?"

I felt my eyes go wide. If he dies? In his sleep? Showers? This couldn't be happening! But, looking at Julian, I could see why Smythe was worried. He looked horrible, as if death was the only peace he'd ever find.

_Find him a better future…_

"Understood, David," Donley whispered.

This had happened before. Donley and Georgie, and maybe Frettchen too, had covered for Smythe by hiding a dead body in the showers. Someone who maybe should have gone to medical, but would have faced something worse than just dying if he had.

I felt faint.

Smythe extinguished his cigarette and left.

No one spoke. It was like Jules was already gone.

The curfew alarm sounded. As the others had already done their cleaning up for the night, no one moved toward the showers, and I wasn't about to go alone. Julian settled down on the bed next to his, using what clean clothes he had left as a pillow. I watched him for a few long moments, then dug in my belongings until my fingers closed on a narrow strip of fabric. I'd memorized the poem months ago; I didn't need the physical reminder. Besides, maybe it would give Julian some comfort that I'd never found in it.

I waited till the lights went out, then climbed down from my bunk, blanket in one hand, bookmark in the other.

Now if anyone was listening it was my soft footfalls that padded from my bed to another's, though unlike Trevor I wasn't seeking comfort but offering it.

"Hey, Jules," I whispered, not wanting to startle him, "you awake?"

"Come to sing me a lullaby, Elvis?" Julian's voice sounded raspy and soft as a ghost's.

I sat on the bunk and draped my blanket over him. "Something like that." Moved by a vision or something else, I said, "Give me your hand."

Julian didn't move for a long while. I couldn't tell if he was scared or just in too much pain. But finally I felt him shift next to me, and there was a rustle of fabric as he brought an arm over top of the blanket. His bare hand glimmered faintly in the dim windowlight.

My breath caught in my throat as I comprehended the amount of trust he showed in that gesture. "Here, I want you to have this." And, very gently, I set the bookmark in his hand.

He gasped, a soft, startled sound, and his fingers closed reflexively around the fabric. I could barely make out his features, eyes closed not with pain but with wonder. I could almost see my grandmother in his face, and something shook loose in my chest to flood my eyes with hot tears.

"Where did you get this?" Julian hissed, teeth clamped against his own voice. The words sounded like weeping.

"It was my grandmother's," I told him, using a corner of the blanket to wipe at my face. "She loves God very much, though I don't know Him myself. I thought it might make you feel better." In that moment I knew that she was still among the living, and not a day went by that she didn't whisper a prayer for me. Though I couldn't understand her faith, the reality of her conviction kept my tears fresh, coursing down my face like a baptism of salt.

I could tell by his breathing that Julian was crying too, though he'd long ago mastered the art of doing it without sound. Slowly he calmed himself, and I could see distilled moonlight reflecting from his eyes as he said, "You can't possibly know what this means to me. I'll never forget this, Elvis. Or you."

"Hide it safe," I told him. "Memorize the poem, and hide it safe." Inspired, I added, "And when you're feeling better, pass it along to someone else who's crying, okay? Keep the poem in your head, and pass it on."

As I climbed back into my bunk, I made up my mind to have a look at tomorrow, if I could get one. I needed to know if Jules would be okay. I lay in my bed, using my jacket for a blanket, and I stared at what I knew was now, pushing it back, looking past it. Only a few hours, that's all I needed.

I Saw Julian, but it wasn't tomorrow; he was much older, with a narrow beard and mustache, and he was dressed like a teacher. The vision faded back into the mirror view of me, older as well, wearing a fancy white suit.

The older me winked at his reflection as if he knew I was looking.

**A/N:**

_The Eye was rimmed with fire, but was itself glazed, yellow as a cat's,   
watchful and intent, and the black slit of its pupil opened on a pit,  
a window into nothing._

The Lord of the Rings (Book One: The Fellowship of the Ring) – J.R.R. Tolkien

When Frodo gazed into the Mirror of Galadriel, he Saw things that frightened him, things that were not yet but may soon come to pass. There are many things that Bradley Crawford does not know, things that he catches glimpses of only enough to hint at darkness behind the curtain of time. Has he divined the identity of the Dark Lord himself? And, like Frodo, is he still small enough to slide under the evil one's radar?

Only time will tell.

_For Julian Gray, the poem on Grandma's bookmark:_

"Footprints" by Mary Stevenson

One night I had a dream –

I dreamed I was walking along the beach

with the Lord

and across the sky flashed scenes from my life.

For each scene I noticed two sets of footprints,

one belonged to me

and the other to the Lord.

When the last scene of my life flashed before me,

I looked back at the footprints in the sand.

I noticed that many times along the path of my life,

there was only one set of footprints.

I also noticed that it happened at the very lowest

and saddest times in my life.

This really bothered me and

I questioned the Lord about it.

"Lord, you said that once I decided to follow you,

you would walk with me all the way,

but I have noticed that

during the most troublesome times in my life

there is only one set of footprints.

"I don't understand why

in times when I needed you most,

you should leave me."

The Lord replied, "My precious, precious child,

I love you and I would never, never leave you

during your times of trial and suffering.

"When you saw only one set of footprints,

it was then

that I carried you."


	16. 15

**15**

"_Always use the proper name for things."_

Voices, again. I know these voices…

"_Schuldig?"_

"…_yes?"_ (He sounds exhausted…)

"_Would you come with me for a minute?"_ (…Persia?)

"_Nagi, stay here. Watch him until I get back."_

"_Hai."_

November snow seems to be a tradition around here. I watched it turn the courtyard into a blur of white, the edges of the buildings blunted and rounded. The whole scene reminded me of a ghost ship, white against gray, and crewed with the damned.

I've been here over a year now, and I was still standing. I figured that was a good thing. Absently I raised the lit cigarette and took a half-hearted drag on it. Coughing followed as it always did, but the rush of nicotine kind of made me feel warmer for just a second. I wasn't hooked on it, not yet anyway. Donley had offered me one after a really bad day and it had helped a little. We were all on the lookout for any edge, any hope, any crutch that could get us through another few hours. If we could just make it back to our dorm, we were pretty sure we'd wake up the next morning.

I tried to move my thoughts away from that. We hadn't lost anyone since Clifford, and I didn't want to jinx it. Julian had gotten better, more in control of his gift, and he wasn't so sick all the time anymore. Georgie had had a growth spurt late summer, and now most of the tough crowd left him alone. Between his size and an innate skill with his fists, he was pretty formidable.

While my dormmates were doing okay, the other people in my life didn't seem so lucky. Konnor and Shelley still acted like they were hunted men, and I wondered what had happened to start all that. Then again, with Sonndheim, one doesn't really need a motive.

I took another puff, a long one this time, and managed not to choke. Sonndheim had gotten hold of Frettchen a few weeks back. Kid still wouldn't talk about it. He'd come back after three days looking like he'd been in a concentration camp: shaky, pale, unwashed, and somehow thinner. There were things going on here that I still didn't understand, and I had the awful feeling that not knowing was someday really going to hurt me.

Jules had taken me aside and explained that Herr Sonndheim had a thing about telepaths. He liked to break them. And he was good at it. Donley had perfected the blank stare, the flat intonation, and memorized the propaganda; he was invisible. Frettchen was still a bit of a flake, a joker, but he wouldn't even fit in with a clown troupe. He was too proud: fitting in was a last resort.

I hoped he'd take it quick. I didn't want to lose him. Friendship was the only thing we had here, the only thing they couldn't take away.

No, I reminded myself, thinking of Trevor. They could take that away too.

With a sigh I inspected my cigarette, decided there wasn't enough left to salvage, and tossed it into the snow. I wasn't sure if I'd keep the rest, but for now they stayed in my pocket. If I didn't smoke them, they were still as good as money.

Fourteen years old and smoking out back behind the school building. Oh, Jimmy would laugh his ass off if he only knew! His goody-two-shoes pest of a baby brother, leaning against the wall and making like a chimney – he wouldn't be able to resist running to Ma and telling her all about it.

This time, when I thought about home there were no tears, only a deep ache in my belly. Last year I'd spent half my birthday crying like a little kid, which I kind of still was. This year I'd watched it come and go with barely a nod. They say when you grow up, time seems to speed up and carry you along from year to year like you were falling down a hill, faster and faster until you hit the bottom. I just hadn't expected it to happen before I was thirty.

My classes were going well, at least. In this season of Thanksgiving, I guess that would count for something. Frau Sheffield had finally stopped treating me like some kind of impostor and taken me under her wing. She was really a good teacher, once you got past all the bristles. She taught me how to meditate and slow the visions so I could actually get a look at them, and how to make them come when they were balky. One day she even told me that I was an exceptional student, for a boy. From her, that's highest praise.

I trudged back to the dorm, thinking about homework. But what I was thinking deeper under the surface wasn't about my classes at all. Donley was a good teacher too, though I suspected that we'd both be in a whole lot of trouble if anyone knew about it. Still, they seem to like people taking initiative here, and I was really tired of feeling like an open book.

Donley was alone in the room when I got in. "Hey, Crawford. You ready?"

"You bet." I sat cross-legged on the floor next to Julian's bunk. I'd tried doing this in a more comfortable setting, but I had a tendency to fall over, and that wasn't a good thing.

Gentle fingers tickled my awareness, warm and soft like a summer breeze.

I pushed them away.

They came at me more insistent.

I pushed them away.

Then Donley's mind hit mine with the force of a thundersquall. His hopes, his fears, his classwork, and a powerful craving for nicotine – everything that was him tried to pour into me.

I concentrated so hard sweat sprung out on my forehead, and the storm splashed over me, sliding off my shields to vanish into the thick cinderblock walls.

"Not bad," the telepath murmured. "Not damn bad, Crawford. Another round?"

"Hit me with your best shot," I told him, grinning in spite of a mild headache.

This time it wasn't forceful so much as sneaky, as Donley tried to find me inside my own head. I could feel him prying, probing, searching for some token to show he'd won. I thought of a song I knew by heart, and let it sort of run loose at full volume.

"'Conquistador', huh? Never heard that one. You make that up?"

I shook my head. "Nah, I'm not a musician! It's real all right. Classic rock. The best!" Squinting, I looked up at him. "Get anything else?"

"Besides that song? Not a damn bit." He hopped down from his bunk and held his hand out to me. "Congratulations, kid. You're solid."

"Thank you, Don." I shook his hand, then let him pull me to my feet. "Think it'll hold against a teacher?"

"Fat chance, but it's a start." He paused to light a cigarette. He offered me a drag, which I declined. "Like I told you before, it's nearly impossible to keep Them out of your head, no matter how good you are. They hate that. I think that's why Frettchen got in so much trouble, you know."

"Donley, I know no one wants to talk about it, but…what did they do to him? He hasn't been right since." I couldn't shake the feeling that he wouldn't ever be right again, either.

Donley sighed and looked away from me. "They put him in The Pit. It's one of their favorite tortures, especially for telepaths." Don kind of folded his arms around himself like he'd taken a chill. Cigarette smoke curled up behind his back and broke against the edges of his hair. "It's like a sensory deprivation thing, only not really. I don't know how to describe it, only that it's something you never, never want to see firsthand."

"Have you seen it?" I whispered, though I already guessed his answer.

"Yeah." The word came out barely audible, as did those that followed. "Once. Two days. Never again."

"What do they do to –" I began, but he cut me off.

"They don't have to DO anything, Crawford. They just put you in there, and leave you…" He turned to look at my face, and his eyes were flat and cold. They were the eyes of a man who could kill without remorse, if only to ward off his own torment. "It's a cell, about two meters by three or so. There's a stump of a toilet, no sink, and a frame cot with no bedding. The door –" his voice broke. He took a hit on his cigarette, and his hand was shaking like crazy. "The door has a tiny window with bars on it, and a little slot at the bottom where they shove food through. There's sometimes a single light bulb in the ceiling, but not always. Sometimes it's dark. Coffin dark."

I swallowed hard. My own skin had gone clammy, and I was probably as pale as a ghost. Since being here I had heard about and experienced a number of horrible things, and I had listened to rumors about honest-to-god torture, but this…

Donley continued, pushing the words out as if they burned. "And there's several of these cells, all in one place, and they never put you in when you're well. They break down your shields, they break your body then leave you there to rot. It's only a few hours, or days, but you still rot. For telepaths, it's a taste of madness. Empaths too. It's not nearly so effective on phys talents unless they're already crazy or something. But telepaths…they go totally open, with the pressure inside their minds buckling under the pressure from the other cells." He closed his eyes and breathed, "God help you if they're doing experiments in the Lab; it's right next door."

"And they put Frettchen in there." I started pacing, the anger and frustation building up in my chest and making it hard to breathe.

"Sonndheim put him in there," Donley whispered, his voice so low I barely heard him.

I turned to look at Donley. "Sonndheim? He's in charge of that?"

Donley flinched when I said the name aloud. "Yeah, him."

Suddenly it occurred to me that, in over a year, I had never heard my dormmates, or any of the students for that matter, talking directly about Herr Sonndheim. There were hints and whispers, always the whispers, but nothing to link his name to any of it. We all knew who they were talking about, of course, but it was like saying his name out loud was courting bad luck. Like he'd somehow hear you and know what you were saying.

In over a year, I had learned very little about one of the men who controlled my life, and I had the feeling that most of what I had learned was wrong.

You see in stories where someone is so evil you aren't supposed to say his name, but I'd never in all my life thought it could be real. Time bent inside my head, and I Saw a man with scarred ivory skin and an eyepatch, and he was talking with the man with blue-green eyes.

"_Always use the proper name for things," he said, his voice roughly accented and low. "Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself."_

"_Thanks, Far." The red-head's voice sounded husky, like he'd been crying._

_Guilty…_

"Hey, Crawford." Donley snapped his fingers in front of my face. "Where'd you go?"

I checked my watch, though I hadn't paid attention to the time before my shielding session with Don. That didn't help much, so I looked for another point of reference. I hadn't been out long enough for Donley's cigarette to burn down, unless he'd lit another, and the amount of smoke in the room didn't seem too much. "Sorry 'bout that," I murmured. "You know how I get."

"Yeah, and if talking about _him_ sends you off on visions, maybe we should stop."

I frowned, too many unhappy ideas colliding in my brain. "Don, what else is he in charge of?"

"Why do you want to know? You just want to stay clear of him, I thought you knew that by now."

"Yeah, but I still don't know for sure why." I debated telling him about Konnor, and Shelley, and the watching eye.

But Donley made up my mind for me. He held up a hand and said, "Your shields are back down, Crawford. No, I don't want to know anything, and you shouldn't either. If the Ice Baron thinks you have something interesting, he'll get it out of you, and you won't be seen again. That's just how it is, and it doesn't matter if you're a student or a teacher. Esset loves him above all others, and it shows."

"Why do people call him that?" I'd heard the nickname before, along with several more descriptive ones, but this one seemed almost too dignified for the man.

"Have you looked into his eyes?"

A chill ran down my spine at the memory of it. "Yeah. I have."

"That's why."

The door opened, and for one breathless second I imagined the shadow of Herr Sonndheim filling the tiny dorm room.

In a way I was right: Frettchen shut the door behind him and silently turned toward his bunk.

Donley's eyes flashed warning. ::Don't, Crawford. Just leave him alone.::

I sighed and nodded. I hadn't forgotten the grief and guilt over Trevor's fate; had I pushed him into something he might otherwise have avoided? I'd never have the answer to that, but I'd learned my lesson. Keeping my tone light, I turned toward Frettchen and said, "I'm going outside for a couple, you wanna go?"

"No, thanks. I'm kind of tired, actually. And I've got work to do before class tomorrow."

Before my mouth could get me in any trouble, I picked up my jacket and headed for the door.

::I'll stay with him, Crawford.::

::Thanks, Don. And thanks for the smokes. I think I need one.::

It was almost dinner time, Sunday evening. A long time ago that meant supper with my family and some television time with Sarah. A year ago it meant supper in the dining hall with a couple hundred strangers, half of them watching to see if the other half were weaker or stronger than themselves, followed by an hour or more of intensive language lessons.

Today it meant a few more precious minutes to myself, nursing a cigarette in the courtyard before seeking out my circle of friends in the dining hall. After supper, we'd return to the dorm for any last-minute classwork and then talk in hushed tones about this or that, but never anything important. Never anything incriminating.

We all acted as though our rooms were bugged, and our heads as well. There was a creeping paranoia here that got under the skin and spread like scabies. When I first arrived, I didn't know what that feeling was, or why, but now I'd learned to recognize it. Brutality had become a fact of my life, but I realized it only served to distract from the larger picture, and I had never been one to stay distracted for long. Time played goofy with me anyway, I wasn't about to relinquish a moment I didn't have to.

Esset didn't want a following, it wanted slaves. Brainwashed, helpless slaves. Preferably with powers the rest of the world didn't have.

I didn't want to end up like Frettchen.

They break the telepaths, they use violence to keep the phys talents in line, and they make sure the students have almost no freedom to think for themselves. From the looks of things, the higher-ups did the same to the teachers. They dole out favors to make you think you're obeying willingly, but the truth of it is you didn't have any choice at all.

I concentrated on my shields, the product of nearly a year of practice. Donley said they were solid, they'd hold against another student. But that wasn't enough.

I wanted them to hold against Sonndheim.

The bell announcing the second dinner hour sounded, and I gave up the cigarette in favor of food. Julian met me on the way to the dining hall, his face pink with the cold and lit with a genuine smile. "Hey, Elvis! Sit with me, would you? I've got some news and I want you to be the first."

We queued up behind a long line of charcoal-jacketed kids and waited. A few older students wandered by, sizing us up. I kept my shields high and tried not to smirk at their confusion when they noticed they couldn't read me. I could feel them trying, their minds pressing against mine like snakes searching a nest for eggs. All they got was Radio USA, KBMC Kentucky – classic rock, no commercials.

Julian and I reached the serving line and accepted our ration for the evening. I'd almost gotten used to the bland food; in fact, the bland stuff was better than the flavored stuff, though I couldn't really pinpoint why. We took our trays and found a couple of empty seats at the end of one long table. I looked around for our other dormmates, saw Georgie talking with a couple of redshirts near the middle of the room.

A sudden flare against my shields startled me, a flash of crimson despair that vanished as soon as it had come – vanished into the sound of gunfire.

"Jesus! Get down!" Julian grabbed me and threw me under the table, sliding in on top of me.

I lay there, peeking out through the table legs and the benches, trying to deny what I'd seen in that second before Julian had reacted.

Frettchen, pistol in hand. Georgie and the two redshirts falling in a spray of blood.

One more shot rang out, and Frettchen collapsed to the floor.

I struggled to get up, but Julian pinned me firmly. "Don't, Elvis! Just stay down!"

"It's Frettchen, Jules! Let me go!"

"Everyone, may I have your attention?" I didn't recognize the voice, but it carried through out loud and inside my head. "Form two lines, north end and south end. Follow the security detail to the courtyard. You may take your trays with you."

"Come on," Julian whispered, clambering out from under the table and offering me his hand.

I stood up and turned to try to see what had happened to my friends. Part of my mind insisted that they were going to be okay, that they'd be taken to the hospital and they'd be okay.

But when I saw Georgie I knew he was gone. And when I saw Frettchen, it was worse. He'd shot himself in the face.

"You two all right?"

"Yes, David. We're all right," Julian replied, his voice thick with emotion.

"Come with me. I've already found Donley. We're going back to the hall in a group. Bring your trays."

"I'm not hungry," I heard myself whisper. I couldn't get the image of the blood out of my head, or the flare I'd seen against my shields – that was Frettchen's only goodbye.

Donley looked like total hell. He'd been alone with Frettchen before this happened, the way I'd been alone with Trevor. I put my hand on his shoulder and quietly asked if he was okay.

"I didn't know he had a gun," he whispered. "He told me to go on ahead to dinner, that he'd be along in a minute." Don gazed at me and Julian, his eyes haunted. "I left him alone."

"It's not your fault," Julian told him.

With sudden insight I understood. "He's right, Don. It's not your fault. It's Sonndheim's."

**A/N:**

"_Always use the proper name for things."_

Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone – J.K. Rowling

The quote is continued in Bradley's vision, spoken in a future context Bradley cannot yet know.

This chapter begins with another reminder that this story is being told as a flashback. Brad Crawford is in hospital, you recall, fighting for his life after a brutal psionic duel at the Koua Academy. When past, present, and future get blurred together, it gets a little hard to keep them all separate.

scabies – a contagious skin disease that is caused by a mite and characterized by intense itching.


	17. 16

**16**

_is it to be or not to be_

_and I replied 'oh why ask me?'_

Donley, Julian and I surveyed our new room with that kind of calm detachment that comes with surviving a disaster. The move was immediate: Smythe didn't want us staying in the room that had seen five deaths in a little over a year. There was always the chance for chemical involvement, he said, and he wasn't about to risk any more lives. The administration apparently agreed with him, or owed him a favor. In any case, there was an upper-class dorm room standing vacant, the one we were slated for anyway in another year, so Smythe pulled some strings and got it approved within the hour.

The room was about the same size as our old one, but it was set up for only four students instead of eight. There were real desks and chairs, one on either side of the bunk beds. There was even a slight sense of privacy: you could hang a blanket down and sit in your chair and have a tiny corner of the world to yourself.

Julian and I took bottom and top on the right-hand side; Donley took the top bunk to the left.

David Smythe straddled one of the chairs and massaged his forehead with the back of his hand, smoke from his cigarette drifting lazily back and forth as he did so. Behind him, on the desk, sat a box with Frettchen's and Georgie's belongings. He'd cleared out their stuff while we had gotten our own things around, pointedly ignoring Donley's and Julian's contraband in exchange for a handful of smokes. He turned and rummaged in the box, then pulled out Frettchen's assignment book.

"_Schlecht, schlecht, schlecht,"_ he murmured. Glancing up, Smythe asked Donley, "Did he say anything to you? Any indication there was something wrong?"

"None, David." Donley sounded like he was crying, and all of a sudden I remembered that, like me, he was only a kid. Fourteen, and alone, and he'd just seen one of his friends kill another friend before blowing his own brains out. We were all just kids; even Smythe wasn't twenty yet. "Lord of the Flies", right here in Germany.

Smythe sighed, followed it with a deep drag of nicotine. He looked at Julian. "You want at it before they call you?"

I glanced from Smythe to Jules, confused.

Julian seemed to sag. "They probably will, won't they?" He turned to me, a wan smile on his face. "That's right, I was going to tell you first, Elvis. They want me in applied forensics. I've gotten enough control over my gift that it isn't hurting me anymore, and they need readers like that. I've been approved for a trial post, Gamma designation."

In spite of the day's tragedy, I managed a smile for my friend. A trial post was like an apprenticeship, or a staff position: if it worked out, he'd be on a steady career track with real training and he could escape the day-to-day bullshit the rest of us had to deal with. He'd be almost a teacher himself, with perks like Smythe or the Hall Patrol had. And a Gamma designation – that was the intelligence division. If he did well enough, he could maybe even get out of here and transfer to Prague!

Then it hit me: _transfer to Prague_.

"When do you start?" Donley asked, his voice still a harsh croak.

"I'm on right now. I hope they don't tap me for this case," Julian murmured. But one glance at Smythe made him shake his head. "You're right, they will. Acid test." He sighed and reached for the notebook.

"When will you leave?" I asked, barely above a whisper.

Julian looked at me, surprised. Then he caught my meaning and smiled a little. "I'm in training here for ten months. After that, I don't know." He took off his gloves and ran his fingertips over the paper; his expression froze, becoming mask-like and tragic. "Oh God, Frettchen…" Glancing up at Smythe, he said, "Pit casualty. He snapped."

I looked down at the notebook. Across the cover, my squirrely little friend had written the German word for "bad" over and over, scrawled on top of each other and covering every inch. He'd written it hard enough to gouge into the paper underneath.

_Guilty…_

Donley choked back a sob, failed to catch it before it made noise.

Smythe stood and guided him down from his bunk, then just held him for a moment. They were both telepaths, and of all the telepaths I had known by name, they were the last two who were still alive.

No, I realized; they weren't the last.

Herr Sonndheim was a telepath, too.

"Gentlemen, would you excuse us?" Smythe whispered, turning Donley toward the door.

Donley clung to him, huddling against his side as if trying to hide inside his jacket.

Smythe leaned down and kissed his forehead before ushering him from the room.

I blinked, startled. I hadn't realized they were together like that, but now it made perfect sense. They'd always had a casual sort of comfort with each other, bantering and sharing smokes and all. And Donley had always seemed like he was in a safe place, anchored and steady. I watched the door close as if it was the curtain between acts in a stage play. Something inside me really wanted Donley and Smythe to stay in the room with us, as if that could prove that they would still be okay tomorrow. Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow… I sighed and turned my attention back to the present, my sister's voice echoing in my thoughts for one strange moment before it faded into silence.

Julian slowly picked through the items in the box, occasionally stopping to flex his fingers as though they hurt. I joined him, looking at the remains of two lives in a sturdy cardboard banker's box.

Then I realized another significance of this: Smythe was giving us first dibs. Anger and disgust rolled through me; I felt like a scavenger, and I didn't like it. But I'd been through this before, and it was simply the custom of the land. When Jules offered me Frettchen's half-full box of lemondrops, I accepted without comment.

Julian sorted the items according to utility. Textbooks without notes he set aside to be returned to the appropriate classes. Any notes he would go over for evidence; then anything useful to either of us or to Donley he'd set aside so we could copy them before turning them over to the investigation.

He gave me first call on the contraband.

I watched him work, running his hands over the books and notes and things, trying to taste the events that had led to the shooting. Every now and then he'd sigh, and shake his head, and look much older than his almost-fifteen years. He was a winter baby, February 17; I caught myself wondering how old he'd been when Esset had found him.

How old had Frettchen been? This place was hell on telepaths; how long had he endured it before he just couldn't anymore?

How much longer did Donley or Smythe have before they went the same way?

"Why telepaths?" I heard myself asking.

"Why telepaths what?" Jules replied, distracted.

"Like you said, people here have it in for them," I mused. "They've got it bad, right from the start, and it only gets worse. I was just wondering why, that's all. I'd think telepaths would make pretty good spies, it just seems strange to let them burn out like this."

"You've been dozing through Psi Theory again, haven't you?" Julian asked with a bitter smile. "They're hard to train. More importantly, they're hard to tame. They have so much trouble keeping their sense of self together, they resist the programming. They fight it. The phys talents don't have that. They're like thugs: they're strong and they know it, and they'll follow anyone powerful enough to gain their admiration. As for the blues, empaths are meek. They avoid conflict; it's the way they're wired, they just can't stand other people's anger. You and me, we're like regular people who happen to be very useful to Esset. We follow the rules, we go to our jobs, we keep our heads down and try to eke out a little bit of happiness. We'll probably both end up with desk jobs, you know that, right?"

I nodded. "Yeah, I know. Could be worse. Could get a field assignment," I joked half-heartedly.

Julian laughed out loud. "You? On a field team? That's like putting the goose that lays the golden eggs in an unguarded pen! One fox and it's all over! No, my friend, they'll want to keep you under lock and key, in a nice safe office somewhere with your own secretary and a ficus plant."

Now I had to laugh, the horrors of earlier fading as though they were months behind us.

Returning to my question, Julian sobered again and said, "But telepaths… They're rebellious by nature. They have to be. Otherwise they get swallowed up in everyone else's thoughts and lose themselves completely. Problem with that is, Esset wants predictable soldiers, not free-willed radicals. But they still want their mind readers. The trick is to break them, just enough to control them but not enough that they…" He looked at the book in his hand, dropped it back into the box. Julian turned toward me and said, "It's a fine line, Elvis. Donley and Smythe figured out how to walk it. From what I've seen, two out of five is about right."

Two out of five? "You mean, any telepath has only a 40 chance of getting through Rosenkreuz alive?"

Julian sighed, shook his head, and said, "Of surviving any given year. They get more telepaths than anything here. It's the most common talent, at the usable level, anyway. They get more in, and they only field about a third of them. Maybe not that many."

I looked at the unclaimed bunk next to us. "I miss them, Jules."

"Me too, Elvis." He put his arm around my shoulders. His presence was warm, comforting; I sagged against him, fatigue and grief and hunger all taking their toll at once.

I sighed and let the feelings wash through me. Frettchen was gone, Georgie was gone. Trevor, Clifford, and that other guy I hadn't even known by name. Two guys in red shirts – my mind rushed to compare them with the boy in my visions, the boy with eyes like smoky embers and wavy dark hair. I really didn't know, as I hadn't seen their faces, but I had the feeling that this wasn't a relevant thing at the moment.

"You okay?" Julian asked, his voice lower than it used to be. When had it gone from a high tenor to something more adult-sounding? Until just then, I hadn't noticed. But now it was all I could think about.

Other than Konnor, this was the first time I'd let some guy hold me this long, and I realized I didn't much mind it. I liked Jules. He was nice, and solid, and I trusted him. Maybe that's how Donley felt about Smythe. In any case, I found myself sort of smiling at him as I said, "Yeah, I'm okay."

Julian stared at me for a second, then kind of awkwardly he brought his face closer to mine. His eyes looked a little scared, and I could feel his breath on my lips right before he kissed me.

It wasn't like with Konnor. Julian's mouth was soft and uncertain, seeking, not demanding at all. And instead of fighting, I found myself kissing back. It felt…nice.

My arms wrapped around him and we just stood there, breathing around the kiss as time slid past us. Julian shifted his weight a little, moved so his thigh was between my legs; his own hard-on pressed against my thigh, and he moaned softly into my mouth.

I liked this. I liked it a lot. But I was afraid we'd end up falling over if we just stood there like that, so I backed us up toward the unclaimed bunk.

Limbs flailed, not sure where to go as we rearranged ourselves horizontally. Then his leg was back between mine, pressing deliciously, and I gasped against his lips. We rocked against each other, still fully dressed except for our jackets. We kissed until the pleasure stole our breath, then we concentrated on the lower half of our bodies and rode each other to the finish line. When I saw Julian gasp and knew that he was coming, it made something in my belly tighten up and I came too, excited for him as much as for myself.

Afterward, we lay there in each other's arms, sticky but not wanting to seek out the showers just yet. We'd be using a different shower now, and I realized I didn't even know for sure where it was.

Julian brushed the hair back from my face. His own hair was damp with sweat, clinging to his cheeks and forehead in ringlets. "Thanks."

"Anytime," I gasped, still kind of high from the pleasure. Maybe Konnor had been right, when he'd talked to me months ago about finding a playmate. I'd always liked Julian, always trusted him. It seemed a natural enough choice.

And, in the wake of tragedy, it felt good to just hold another human being. I'd used to watch "M.A.S.H." in the reruns, late at night, and it always kind of hit me in the chest how people reacted to the horror of war. Sometimes they turned in on themselves, and sometimes they turned on those around them.

The ones who turned to someone else were the lucky ones, the ones who survived to the end of the series.

I'm going to be one of those.

**A/N:**

_is it to be or not to be_

_and I replied 'oh why ask me?'_

"Suicide is Painless" – Theme from "M.A.S.H."

Again we have a reminder of the world Bradley has left behind, a world where tragedy is doled out in entertainment rather than a fact of daily life. Shakespeare and "M.A.S.H." have a sort of odd resonance together, and the fact that Bradley knows them both gives another glimpse into the strength of his character.

That Frettchen was writing _schlecht_ – bad – over and over on his notebook is a peek ahead at the mind control efforts in Glühen. Nothing is coincidental.

As his older sister would have been in high school when he left, it's not unlikely that Bradley would have been subjected to her reciting Shakespeare for an English class. And given Bradley's powerful memory, I'm not surprised that he kept it. (Ironically, I hear that Herr Sonndheim favors this particular passage himself.)

"To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,  
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,  
To the last syllable of recorded time;  
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools  
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!  
Life's but a walking shadow; a poor player,  
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,  
And then is heard no more: it is a tale  
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,  
Signifying nothing."

-- Macbeth (Act V, Scene v)


	18. 17

**17**

"_I am the Sayer of the Law," said the grey figure. "Here come all that be new to learn the Law. I sit in the darkness and say the Law."_

I read the question again. This wasn't right, the premise it was based on was faulty. Whoever had written this test had made a mistake. Or maybe this was a trick question, to see if we were paying attention. That had to be it! With a new sense of confidence, I wrote my essay in two simple sentences: _This question cannot be answered as posed. No meaningful response can be made to flawed data._

I felt rather clever at catching that question. Tricky ones were always interesting, because it's like the teacher is testing _how_ you think rather than _what_ you think about a subject. After I set my pencil down on the closed testing booklet, I happened to catch the teacher's eye, and I offered him a satisfied smile. I wasn't the only student done early; a couple of the smarter kids were done too, so I felt like I was in good company.

The bell sounded, and we all got up to turn in our tests. I followed along to the front table, set my booklet down with the others, and turned toward the door.

"Herr Crawford, wait a moment."

I swallowed. It was never a good thing for a teacher to single you out, but there wasn't anything I could do about it.

Herr Garrick had opened my test booklet and now was frowning at one of the answers. I realized he was reading my reply to the trick question. My stomach began to tighten.

"Flawed data?" Herr Garrick looked up, one eyebrow raised. "Explain, Herr Crawford."

Trying not to look as nervous as I felt, I said, "Sir, the question presumes certain details as true which are not valid. It would be like asking why a house cat is a better sheepdog than a canary, there simply is no answer for it as presented." My earlier conviction had evaporated as neatly as sweat in a desert.

My history teacher glanced at the booklet again, then smiled slightly. "Herr Crawford, I understand what your protest means. I was asking you to explain in what way the question was invalid. Take your time, I have nothing pressing to attend to at the moment. I am curious what your answer might have been had you not taken issue with the question itself."

I took a deep breath and tried once more to compose myself. Alone with a teacher, in a classroom slated to remain empty until morning, I had to fight down a rush of claustrophobia. Though the room was big enough, I still felt as thoroughly trapped as though I were in a coffin. Then reason kicked in, and logic behind it. Herr Garrick had a decent reputation, as far as teachers went. I'd been in his history classes from the start. He had never been odd or unfair to me, and I had no real reason to fear him. The more this realization sank in, the faster my mind seemed to turn until I had a nice solid argument in my head, one that supported my dismissal of the question and would sound eloquent upon the most nervous tongue.

With increasing courage, I explained my position. I told him how the question might have been worded instead, and proceeded to answer that question to the best of my knowledge of history. This had always been my best subject, and that was how I'd known this question was a bad one. Though politics might distort the _whys_ of history, the _whats_ are pretty much set in stone and so are much harder to erase or change.

I must have talked for twenty minutes. By the time I was done, my passion for the subject had run its course and I felt wrung out. I stood at attention, waiting for Herr Garrick's response.

He made a notation in my test booklet, then nodded to me. "You made a convincing argument. You have salvaged your grade, Herr Crawford." Then he met my eyes and said, "However, for your accusation against the integrity of this course and its instructor, I have no choice but to refer you for disciplinary action."

Blood roared through my ears, pounded behind my eyes in a thunder of white sound. Discipline? But why? The question had been wrong!

"It is unfortunate, Herr Crawford. But the rules exist for a reason. I expect you to be more cooperative in the future, understood?"

"Yes, sir."

Herr Garrick wrote out a brief note, then folded it and handed it to me. "Report to Herr Sonndheim immediately. Dismissed."

I felt all the wind go out of me, and for one awful second I thought I was going to faint right there. Then training took over: I bowed to my teacher, turned, then marched to the door and out into the hallway. Only then did I allow myself a moment of visible weakness. I sagged against the wall, my mind's tape recorder playing the end of our conversation over and over. I couldn't understand, the question had really been wrong! And Herr Garrick had said I'd salvaged my grade – did that mean he would have failed me _and_ sent me to Sonndheim, if I hadn't answered?

Immediately, he'd said. Though I wanted to be anywhere but there, I knew this was one appointment I didn't dare be late for.

The other students I passed in the halls paid me no mind. I could have sworn that I wore my destination on my face, but no one seemed to notice. I made my way to the building Konnor lived in, where the instructors and staff had their apartments and offices. The four-story building sat on the southwest corner of the campus, and as I drew closer it swallowed my shadow into its own. I could feel the temperature drop as I crossed the border from sun to shade.

Second floor, opposite side of the building from Konnor's home.

A brief flicker of a vision startled me so bad I flinched away from it: a blond man throwing a strong-armed punch right at my face. Time and reality put themselves right again, and I fought to catch my breath. That had been a nasty trick for my gift to play, especially just then. I was scared enough of Sonndheim, I didn't need to be jumping at future echoes too.

Before I realized it, I was standing at the door. Dark, richly polished wood gleamed behind a brass nameplate upon which the name Erich Sonndheim had been etched in heavy Old English-style letters, the kind you see on Christmas cards. My breath had run out, and with it my courage. The other students said so many horrible things about this man, and every encounter I'd had with him so far had only reinforced every bad thing I'd ever heard.

My imagination served up his voice right behind me, telling me to stop standing there like a backwoods fool and knock. I cleared my throat and raised my hand. The heavy wood seemed to absorb the sound of my knuckles, reducing it to a raven's gentle rapping.

Yet the answering voice didn't seem blunted by the barrier at all. _"Herein!"_

As I lowered my hand, I noticed that my palm was sweaty. I had to try twice to get a grip on the doorknob and turn it.

The door swung inward on silent hinges. The room beyond seemed to breathe, tasting my fear and exhaling stale cigar smoke into the hallway. I clutched the note from Herr Garrick, keenly aware that the paper was now damp with sweat and fairly crumpled. I couldn't say which was worse, the journey or the arrival. This had been the longest walk in my life, and now that I was here I had no idea what to expect.

This apartment seemed older than Konnor's, with more woodwork and an older style of furnishings. There was a sofa, and a large free-standing bookshelf, and a good-sized bar, but what drew my eyes the most was the blank spot. Just off-center from the middle of the living room, there was a place that looked like something was missing from it, as though there had been a piece of furniture there that had recently been removed. The carpet there didn't show anything but an irregular stain.

In the corner between the bookshelf and the kitchen hunched a desk, not a nice fancy one like Konnor had, but a simple, sturdy one that looked very worn. And at that desk sat Herr Sonndheim, his fingers steepled before him and his eyes watching every move I made.

Unsure how to proceed, I approached the desk, instinctively veering clear of that blank spot. I stopped a few feet back, and bowed. I remained in that posture and held out the note.

"Approach." His voice whispered harshly across the desktop like sliding metal.

I took two steps forward, stopping when my legs almost touched the desk. Meekly I set the note as close to his hand as I could manage, and waited, head bowed. My hair hung over my eyes, obscuring what I could see, and with my head down like this I was stuck peeking over the top of my glasses, which left everything blurry anyway.

There was a soft rustle of damp paper, and I knew he was reading the note from my teacher. I had no idea what was on that note, I hadn't had the nerve to open it up for a look.

"Good," murmured Sonndheim.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. He was listening to my thoughts! I swallowed down a lump of fear and tried to concentrate on my shields. I hadn't done anything really wrong, they were just doing this to scare me.

And it was working.

"Stand up."

I straightened, my back threatening to cramp from staying bent forward too long.

Herr Sonndheim regarded me with eyes so cold they seemed to burn. "Do you know why you are here, Herr Crawford?"

"Sir, Herr Garrick instructed me to come to you for a disciplinary matter," I stammered, getting stuck on the last two words and almost stuttering them.

"Do you know," Sonndheim asked, rising from his seat, "_why?_"

"No, sir," I whispered, and I knew at once it was the wrongest answer possible.

The reason I knew this was because Sonndheim smiled at me. It was a predatory smile, the kind of smile you imagine on a shark just before he pulls you under.

Herr Sonndheim strode around the desk and gestured for me to follow him. He led me to that empty spot, only a few feet away but it seemed isolated from the rest of the world. "Stand there." As I stood at attention where he directed, he proceeded to walk around me, taking his time. From behind me came the command, "Remove your coat and shirt."

Cold sweat poured down my spine as I complied, leaving me shivering in the cool air. My glasses had slid upward as I'd taken off my t-shirt, and I struggled to get them back into place.

A thick hand reached over my shoulder and plucked my glasses away. "You won't be needing these."

Trembling and nearly blind, I could only stand and wait, and hope he didn't tell me to remove any more clothing. I couldn't help but think about what the other students had said about him, or Konnor's distrust of him, or any of a hundred things that could only bring me trouble if he knew about them.

His low chuckle told me I was already in more trouble than I knew. "Schoenberg's brightest star; how ironic. You stepped over the line, boy. We have all been quite patient with you, out of regard for your gift. But make no mistake, you shall receive no special treatment from me." He leaned forward, his clothes brushing my naked back and his rough cheek nearly touching mine. The smell of tobacco and sweat made me reel. "No one is above the law here," he whispered. "No one. And the sooner you realize this, the better off you shall be."

Sonndheim stepped back away from me, and for a moment I wondered if that was the end of it, a good solid scare for a first offense.

Then the whistle-crack of a slender rod announced the arrival of the real punishment. I staggered forward a step only to find a powerful hand grabbing my shoulder and hauling me upright again. My lower back burned with a pain I had never before imagined.

Sonndheim released his hold on me as though daring me to move again as the crop sliced through the air and then through my skin. I couldn't brace against it, I couldn't anticipate it, all I could do was try with all my might not to fall over or to take a single step out of place. Three hits, I thought; surely he won't do more than three.

"Do you understand your teacher's question any better now?" he asked, his voice rough with exertion already.

I could feel him in my mind, searching for defiance or contrition. All I could offer him was my honest answer, the answer I had given Herr Garrick.

That wasn't the answer he wanted. He swung the crop again, and again. He repeated his question.  
I started counting the hits.

By the time I stopped counting, I knew that I was bleeding. Liquid was pouring from my body: blood from my back, tears from my eyes, snot and spit from my nose and mouth. I wasn't really sure I hadn't wet myself. From a great distance I heard my own voice babbling: "I understand, sir. Yes, sir, I understand the question now. I understand." Though, to be quite honest, I didn't understand much of anything right then, least of all how I managed to remain standing. My eyesight faded in and out, sound roared in my ears, and through it all that low, gruff voice either speaking out loud or in my head, repeating its question like an inquisitor.

And then I did understand. Convert, or die. "I shouldn't have questioned," I gasped, "I misunderstood the test, sir! I thought I was being clever…" The discolored carpet rose up to catch me as my knees buckled, and everything went dark.

**A/N**

"_I am the Sayer of the Law," said the grey figure. "Here come all that be new to learn the Law. I sit in the darkness and say the Law."_

The Island of Dr. Moreau – H.G. Wells

"_Herein!" _– "Come in!"

"And then I did understand. Convert, or die." – Galileo was brought before the Inquisition for his stated belief that the earth revolves around the sun rather than being the fixed center of the universe.

He recanted his belief aloud to save his life.

It is said that afterward he whispered, "Yet it moves."

Knowing the truth and dying for it are two very different things indeed.


	19. 18

**18**

"_Punishment is sharp and sure. Therefore learn the Law. Say the words."_

Why can't I wake up?

"_He moved! Look, he moved his hand! Is that a good sign? What's happening?"_

"_It's just a reflex, sir. Please, come away from the bed. It's time for his bath. Give us ten minutes, all right?"_

"_But I don't –"_

"_Schuldig, come on. It's okay, it's just for ten minutes. Have you eaten anything?"_

"_No. I'm not hungry."_

"_Come with me anyway. I don't want you to be alone."_

The voices recede, and gentle hands tend a body that is only barely mine.

Heavy-limbed pain brought me up out of a dream of fire. I hurt, all over; my muscles ached, my head throbbed, and my back… Underneath a fragile numbness, the skin of my back felt like it had been peeled.

The room swam into dim focus as best it could without my glasses to help it.

I was still in Sonndheim's office.

Fear tightened my throat at the wrong moment, and I started gagging on my own spit. The couch sagged beneath me as I rolled toward the floor to try to clear my airway. My shirt and jacket slid off me and onto the carpet; they had been draped over me like a blanket.

He had carried me to the sofa and set me down like I was only taking a nap.

"Are you ready to continue our discussion, Herr Crawford?" The chill voice cut through the fog of pain, forbidding escape into unconsciousness.

I couldn't speak. Instead, I nodded, hoping he would accept that as answer enough.

"You are not so special, Herr Crawford. Do you understand me? There are those who have great plans for you, but I am not yet convinced. I will be watching you." There was a pause, then a rough, damp cough followed by the snap and hiss of a flip-top cigarette lighter. A blue-gray cloud of cigar smoke drifted upward from the desk and spread out across the ceiling. "Dismissed, Herr Crawford."

I struggled into my t-shirt, the fabric burning my wounded flesh as it slid over. Then the jacket, which only seemed to add heat to my back. I bowed stiffly before letting myself out.

Only after the door was shut did I allow myself to feel anything beyond the physical. I almost started crying. I'd been more scared and more hurt than ever before, even when those guys had raped me. They were only trying to have their own fun; Herr Sonndheim was trying to make a point, and he knew exactly how to do it so it hurt the most.

A wrongness suddenly made sense, and I nearly moaned aloud in disgust. I'd been sweating, I knew I had, but when I put my shirt back on my skin was clean. He'd cleaned me up while I was unconscious. My imagination supplied all sorts of reasons, and this was more than enough for my feet to get moving at last. I stumbled away from his door, picking up speed at a reckless jog until I reached the stairs. I fled the horror of that room without having a clear destination.

And I'd left my glasses behind. I didn't even know where he'd put them after he'd taken them right off my face.

I regained my composure with a powerful effort. It wouldn't do to be seen running here, or to seem upset at all. There was only one thing I could do. I opened the door to the stairwell and headed up.

By the time I reached Konnor's apartment I was trembling all over again. Everything hurt now, including my head. I felt something wet on my lip, wiped at it with the back of my hand.

My nose was bleeding.

Fighting back the tears for another few precious moments, I knocked on my mentor's door.

"Yes? It's open," he called, his clear voice the most welcoming sound I could imagine.

I opened the door just enough to slip inside.

Konnor sat at his own desk, caught up in a swell of paperwork. He scribbled a few more things, then looked up. His hopeful smile froze, then shattered like brittle glass as he launched himself around the desk and hurried toward me. "What happened?" he demanded, his tone angry but not at me. "Who did this to you?" Konnor touched my face with gloved fingers, turning my head gently to survey damage I could feel but not see myself. The crop had slashed over my shoulder a few times, bruising my neck and jaw on the right-hand side if not cutting me outright. Either way, I knew I must look terrible.

"Bradley?" Konnor leaned down close enough to my face that all I could see was a pale golden blur. "Where are your glasses?"

"Herr Sonndheim's office," I whispered, suddenly not wanting to talk about any of it. I stared down at my shoes and wished it would all just stop.

A soft grinding snap sent a new chill down my back. The moment Konnor spoke again, I realized that the sound had been the gnashing of teeth and the harsh popping sound of an overstressed jaw. Either that, or he'd just broken a molar. He sounded like he was talking through a mouth wired shut as he said, "Rest on the couch until I get back. I won't be long." He gently propelled me in that direction, and I shuffled on across the room.

I heard the rustle of Konnor's gloves, followed by the door opening and closing. The lock clicked smoothly into place.

I collapsed to the sofa, lying on my side and curling up a little so my back didn't touch the cushions. I wanted to take my jacket and shirt off, but I could tell my muscles were too stiff now. It was easier just to lie here and doze until Konnor got back. I wondered dizzily where he had gone…

_With a sharp clarity that didn't need prescription lenses, I watched from the inside of Sonndheim's office as the door swung open. Konnor stormed into the room, face twisted with fury._

_Sonndheim said something I couldn't hear._

_Konnor reared back and threw a strong-armed punch right at his face. His bare fist connected with Sonndheim's nose in a spatter of blood._

_Sonndheim hit the floor hard, landing on his butt and nearly hitting his head on the desk. One hand flailed for support._

_He was smiling._

The scene faded, drifted away until I wasn't sure if it had been a vision or my own personal fantasy of heroic retribution. It didn't matter: either way, I felt safer for the moment.

At least, I did so long as I didn't think about Herr Sonndheim's smile.

Soft sounds brought me up out of a fitful sleep. I wasn't sure how much time had passed, and without my glasses I could barely see my watch much less read it. The key turned in the lock, the door opened, and Konnor made a bee-line for the bathroom. I heard water running over muttered cursing.

When Konnor was done in the bathroom, he came over and squatted down next to the couch. "Here," he said, handing me my glasses. "Problem solved."

He was wearing his gloves again; I couldn't remember why this should be important to me, though for some reason it seemed unexpected. I fumbled the frames onto my face, blinked unsteadily at my mentor. His jaw still looked tight, and the little lines around his eyes seemed fiercer than usual. He touched my cheek, and I sort of sagged against his hand. I didn't want to tell him what had happened, and I sure didn't want him to see my back, but part of me knew it was inevitable. Konnor was worried, and I was hurting, and there wasn't a whole lot of sense in trying to hide anything now. I shifted around a little, tried to get out of my jacket.

"Let me help," Konnor murmured, taking hold of my coat and easing it back from my shoulders. He hissed through his teeth. "Bradley, you're bleeding." Then he took hold of my shirt and gently separated fabric from skin until he could get the shirt up and over my head.

I sat there shivering, my arms clenched around my chest. My back felt wet again; something had come open when he took the shirt off. Now, though, the sensations weren't blunted by shock. My stomach doubled in on itself; I clamped a hand over my mouth as I jumped up and bolted for the bathroom.

I remained kneeling in front of the toilet long after my stomach declared itself empty. Konnor had given me a little time to myself before checking on me; now he gently washed my back with a small towel. He only used his left hand for this, the glove set deliberately on the toilet tank. I stared at it, white cotton, like the gloves Rachelle wore when she was in the Girl Scouts. She'd been so proud of every merit badge, always made such a big deal of it all – until she met Bobby Christopher. Then she sort of let everything else slide…

"Bradley?"

Konnor's voice pulled me back to the present. I wasn't sure quite where I'd gone, actually, and that scared me. Had Sonndheim broken something loose in my head? They do say that precognitive men go insane – had I been psychically poisoned somehow? Panic and pain made me shiver as though I was freezing.

I was still sitting on the floor of Konnor's bathroom, shirtless and cold and smelling of pain and soap. I looked up at my mentor and now the tears came. I couldn't hold them back, they just came like the breaking of a dam too weakened to function anymore.

**A/N:**

"_Punishment is sharp and sure. Therefore learn the Law. Say the words."_

The Island of Dr. Moreau – H.G. Wells

About "The Punch" – vision, or fantasy? You decide.

From "Coming Home" chapter 66: _Rosenkreuz was an asylum where the patients were in charge, a laboratory where the mad scientist was as damned as his creations. Far had compared it to "The Island of Dr. Moreau" if the animals had been sadistic twists._

_So who was Moreau?_

Who, indeed?


	20. 19

**19**

_I may ask for nothing just now_

_But soon I'll be sick with memories_

"Shh, it's all right." The gentle voice reinforced the gentle touch, easing me back toward sleep. "You were dreaming. It's just a dream."

For a moment I couldn't recognize that voice. It sounded like my dad, and my brother, and a golden-haired man I trusted though I knew I shouldn't. It sounded like someone I studied with, and someone I fought beside, and someone I –

I woke up. Thin moonlight painted the tiny window in silver.

I wasn't in my own bed.

Then time set itself right, and I gave Julian's arm a reassuring squeeze. "I'm okay. I didn't mean to worry you."

"Want to talk about it?"

"Not really. I don't much remember it, anyway." If he knew I was lying, he let me get away with it.

In truth, the nightmare clung to me like smoke. It was the tower again.

_It was always the tower._

Donley fidgeted around, and I could hear him digging out a cigarette. The sudden, bright flare from his lighter reminded me of a star going nova before fading to a tiny, sullen glow. He inhaled, then commented softly through the smoke. "Maybe you should have gone to medical, Crawford."

"No!" The answer came faster and harsher than I'd planned. "No, Don, it's not that bad. Really."

None of us needed to say what we were all thinking. It was Sonndheim's fault that Frettchen and Georgie were gone, and he'd just done a number on me.

Somehow I didn't think that Sonndheim had been my greatest danger last night. Konnor had only grudgingly allowed me to return to my dorm. There had been something hot and dark in his eyes, and I really hadn't wanted to find out what it might have meant. The thought of my bruised and beaten self giving him any feelings besides pity just made me want to be sick all over again. To give him the benefit of the doubt, I really had no proof that there was anything less than right about his motives, but somehow I just hadn't wanted to stay anywhere near him, especially sleeping.

I felt that thin tickle in my head that meant Donley had just waltzed right on in. I gave him my best mental glare and tried to push him back out, but it hurt too much. ::Knock it off, Don. I don't appreciate this.::

::I _knew_ your mentor was a creep, Crawford.:: Out loud, Donley said, "You're in specialized training with Sheffield, right? Why isn't she your mentor now? They could do that, you know. Reassign you."

I could just make out Julian's frown in the mostly-dark room. Before he could guess the direction Don was going with this, I stated, "I won't ask. That'd just piss Konnor off. Besides, I can go to her anytime I need to anyway, why do I need to cause trouble like that?"

Donley took another drag on his cigarette before snuffing it carefully out against the cinderblock wall. "Your 'Konnor' and Herr Sonndheim have a history, Crawford. Did you know that? Ask around. As much as no one wants to be caught talking about it, everyone knows. They hate each other. You do _not_ want to be in the middle of that. See if your primary instructor can take you on. She's not a perv, is she?"

"What? No!" I felt my face go red at the very thought of it. "She's – damn, Donley, she's old!"

"Like that ever stopped Sonndheim," Don replied dryly.

"No, she's not like that," I growled, wanting to defend one of the few teachers who had not yet betrayed my trust.

"Then you have no good reason not to talk to her," Julian observed. "Do you, Elvis?"

I sighed, clearly outgunned on this one. "No, I guess not. But I'm not going to request a change of mentor."

Don gave a disgusted snort and flopped back onto his bunk. I knew he was thinking that I was content to be Herr General's pet, but that wasn't the point.

I knew it was safer to be Konnor's pet than to be the cause of his anger. I'd faced that once already, I was not about to invite it a second time.

Julian pulled me back under the blanket, reminding me that sometimes one didn't need to be kept to feel safe.

Over the next couple of weeks, my injuries healed while I kept making excuses not to talk with Frau Sheffield outside of lessons. I figured I was okay, the dreams had let up a few days after Sonndheim's punishment, and my visions were behaving themselves the rest of the time.

My meetings with Mr. Grant took place twice a week now, giving me something to look forward to. I'd gotten good enough at German to fit in with a regular class, so our evening sessions focused on aptitude testing to see what other languages I should try out for, as well as speech lessons to get rid of my accent. Mr. Grant always kept things light and a little bit fun, and I enjoyed those few hours as a sort of well-loved hobby.

Life had taken on a comforting pattern, one that I was in no hurry to change as winter melted away to springtime. It became easier and easier to not even think about my problems with Konnor and Sonndheim, easier and easier to just blend in and not think about much of anything at all. I was beginning to think that my gift had leveled off, that I was as strong as I was ever going to get, that I wouldn't have to worry about it any more.

I was wrong.

The calendar on my watch told me it was the end of March, but my head said it should still be near the beginning. I'd lost time somewhere. My class notes were complete, showing that I had in fact lived through those days with absolutely no useful memory of it.

Everyone around me acted like nothing had changed, nothing was going on. So I acted that way too, though inside I knew something was very wrong. I'd blink myself awake in the lunchroom or in class, visions fading before I could even get a glimpse of them. And no one seemed to notice a damn thing.

Of course, it didn't help that I hid well. I wasn't about to let the vultures know how weak I was, and that meant I couldn't even let my friends see it. And I wasn't about to go to Konnor. I remembered his idea of how to get focused again, and while it had been pleasant at the time, it had left me feeling disgusted and used.

I sleepwalked through exams and martial arts classes. I wandered like a zombie in the halls. I debated bumming cigarettes from Donley to cover my mental absence.

Julian seemed to notice something wasn't right, but he didn't push me to talk. Not at first, anyway. But about the time my watch calendar turned from "3" to "4", I couldn't stay anchored to the present well enough to carry on a conversation with him anymore.

"You don't have to be strong with me, Elvis," Julian murmured, trying to keep me in the present moment. He dabbed at my face with a wet towel, slipped something small and hard between my lips.

I started to spit it out, angry that he'd resort to pills again after being okay without them for so long. Then the hot bite of peppermint zinged right through the roof of my mouth and set my nose on fire. I blinked at him, startled as all hell.

Julian smiled. "Thought that would get your attention."

"Damn, that's hot! What was that, anyway?" I tried to tuck the candy into a corner of my mouth where it wouldn't burn so bad, but only succeeded in making my cheek go numb.

"Altoids peppermint," Julian replied. "You like?"

"Damn!"

"So, are you going to tell me what's wrong, or do I have to force-feed you the whole tin?"

I laughed in spite of myself. "Is that what they're teaching you over in Gamma division? I thought you were in forensics, not interrogation!"

"Hey, I'll do whatever works." He leaned in and kissed me softly on the lips. "Whatever it takes to keep you sane, Elvis."

I sighed against his mouth, the hot mint making my tongue tingle. "I'm scared, Jules. I don't want to tell anyone. What if I'm going crazy?" I'd heard what happened to those. There was a special facility off the back of the medical building. People who went in there did not come back out.

"You're not going to go crazy," Julian stated with more certainty than I could easily believe.

"You just said you wanted to keep me sane, Jules. That means you're worried too."

He sighed, his eyes deep and warm. Deep, like the ocean… Then he kissed me again, catching me and pulling me back to the surface before I could sink too far.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and clung to him like a shipwrecked sailor. "I can't stop them, Jules. I can't stop them. They're going to break through, and all I can do is watch." I heard my voice say those words, my old voice that sounded like Kentucky sunshine, and I honestly did not understand what I was talking about. The visions? Or was it something else? Either way, the feeling of terror and despair would not be denied.

"I think," Julian whispered against my cheek, "that it's high time you had that talk with Frau Sheffield."

**A/N:**

_I may ask for nothing just now_

_But soon I'll be sick with memories_

"Brad Crawford's Image Song: Este" – Weiß Kreuz _Dramatic Image Album 4: Schwarz Zwei_

Did Sonndheim indeed shake something loose in Bradley's mind? Was the torment purely physical, or was there another side to it? Sonndheim is a telepath, after all.

The question arises: was it simple cruelty, or was there a darker purpose behind it?

Then again, this could all just be a matter of Bradley's gift growing at a very awkward time. I doubt that the powers ruling Esset would ever willingly answer my questions anyway.


	21. 20

**20**

_April is the cruellest month, breeding_

_Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing_

_Memory and desire, stirring_

_Dull roots with spring rain._

"Come in, Herr Crawford," Frau Sheffield stated, ushering me to her desk. Unlike Konnor's apartment, or Sonndheim's, her suite actually looked like an office. If it weren't for the tiny kitchenette off to the side, it'd be easy to forget that she lived and worked in the same space.

She seated herself at the desk and gestured for me to take the chair opposite. With neat, precise movements she produced a small tape recorder and switched it on. "You say you've been losing time, and having dreams and visions that repeat. What can you tell me about all this?"

My mouth opened to speak, but no words came. I suddenly realized that I would have to confess to her that I'd been trying to deal with this on my own for over two months, when I should have come to her right away. If she was anything like Konnor about things like that, she was going to be furious, and rightly so. I'd been stupid, and now I was in a real mess.

In the awkward silence that followed, I heard my own heartbeat grow loud as thunder, and the next thing I knew I was on the floor. Frau Sheffield knelt at my shoulder, her fingers pressed gently to the pulse in my throat, her other hand upraised as though she was looking at her watch. I moaned and tried to move.

"Stay still, Crawford." She gazed down into my eyes, a frown line creasing her forehead. "Do you know the date?"

I had to think about it. "April…no, wait. Yes, it's April. Twentieth?"

"What year is it?" Her concern hadn't faded; had I gotten the date wrong?

"Um…" Part of me wanted to say something really weird, but I knew it wasn't possible. I'd be almost thirty if it was really 2001! I started to do the math, trying to figure out the year from my own age.

Sheffield scowled. "You're taking too long. Why do you think this is April 20?"

Uh oh, so I _did_ get it wrong! I couldn't tell her that I'd guessed the actual date. In my stomach I thought it was the eighth.

"Crawford! Answer me! Stop thinking about it and just tell me!"

My head swum with pictures and faces and fire, and water wide and deep. "April eighth, 2001," I heard myself whisper. Though I didn't want to talk about this with her, the vision would not be denied. "It happens then, over the sea. I Saw them, I don't know what they were doing, but there was a girl, and fire…"

Frau Sheffield reached over me to her desk, and I could hear her fumbling for something to write on. She scribbled something, then turned her attention back to me. I was only half aware of her; the rest of me seemed somewhere else, somewhen else, and the intensity of it scared me. This…was new.

"They? They who, Bradley?" Sheffield's voice had become softer, taking on the almost hypnotic tone she used when guiding students through trance states.

Was that what had happened? Had I fallen in?

Reality shifted, time slid, and I saw snow in the courtyard. Snow and flames.

Shift, slide…my own hand, raised, pistol clenched in my fist.

Shift, slide…a bright smile, white against dark.

Shift, slide…

"Easy, Bradley. Don't try to move yet."

I felt something soft under my head, and realized I was curled up on the floor with my head in someone's lap, a wad of linen gripped in my hand. My glasses were off, but mercifully they were on the floor right beside that hand. The linen clarified itself into someone else's trousers. Slowly I became aware of my breathing falling into rhythm with the owner of the lap and the trousers.

"Are you back with me now?" A feminine hand picked up my glasses and eased them onto my face.

I blinked gratefully and tried to sit up.

"No, just lie still, boy," Frau Sheffield instructed, once again feeling the pulse in my throat with skilled fingertips. "You've had quite the eventful hour. Any longer and I would have had to charge you rent." Her voice had become warm, almost affectionate. For one terrible moment she reminded me of my grandmother, and my emotions trembled on the edge of disaster.

"What happened?" I croaked, my voice a dry mockery of itself.

"I asked you if your nightmares had anything to do with a disciplinary matter back in February," she stated, watching me closely for a relapse. "You started to answer me, and just slid off your chair. I thought I'd brought you back around, but evidently I was mistaken. I think you're back now, though. Am I right?"

I nodded weakly, uncurling my fingers from her clothing and pushing myself up to sit facing her. I could feel the fabric pattern of her trousers embedded in my cheek. "I don't remember," I whispered, more afraid now than of any nightmare.

"It's all right, I wrote everything down," Sheffield stated. She braced a hand on the edge of her desk and levered herself up. After taking a moment to stretch her back and shake a cramp out of her leg, she picked up a piece of paper and regarded it closely. "I want to discuss this with you, Crawford, but I don't want to risk another collapse." She gestured toward the narrow couch along the far wall. "If you would, just lie back on the couch for a bit. That way, you don't have such a long fall if you do go under."

It took a bit of effort, but I managed to get my feet under me and shuffle to the couch. Strangely enough, I didn't feel nearly so awkward about this as I would with Konnor. Maybe it was because she did, in fact, remind me of my grandmother. She did have the Sight, and she knew what it could do.

"Do you know what the date is, Bradley?" she asked, and I had a momentary swooping feeling of déjà vu. Then I realized, she _had_ asked this before, while I was in that trance state.

"May fourth, 1988," I replied without a moment's thought.

Sheffield smiled. She looked relieved. "Good. And how are you feeling?"

"Tired, ma'am." The bone-deep weariness rolled over me like waves, like the tide…

"Bradley!"

I shuddered as though startled from a dream. "Yes ma'am?"

Frau Sheffield sighed and shook her head. "You're wide open, Bradley. This won't do. I can't have you blacking out on the way to your dormitory." She rubbed her temple as though she shared my growing headache. "I'll arrange for someone to bring you some supper here. Just relax and try to sleep it off. We'll talk about it when you're more coherent."

Sleeping on a teacher's couch was beginning to look like a running joke. A very bad joke.

A gentle touch to my hip and shoulder woke me up just enough to realize she'd covered me with a blanket. Then awareness slid away again into oceans of destruction.

**

* * *

**

**A/N:**

_April is the cruellest month, breeding_

_Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing_

_Memory and desire, stirring_

_Dull roots with spring rain._

"The Waste Land" – T.S. Eliot

Yes, Frau Sheffield is taping the meeting and making notes, and she tells Bradley she's written everything down. Such a dramatic collapse from their powerful young male precog calls for redundant measures: gods forbid the batteries should fail in the middle of something crucial. Also, the tape only picks up sound.

Besides, consider what sort of visions Bradley might be triggering off in his teacher. Those who are sensitive to the vibrations of time tend to affect one another quite without meaning to, and it's very likely that Bradley's own trance would set another precog off with no warning whatsoever.

Just a little something to keep in mind.


	22. 21

**21**

_There is freedom within, there is freedom without…_

"You know, I think I'd forgotten that. Forgotten those visions." I wasn't sure who I was saying this to, only that I needed to say it. "They were so strong, and so true… But I didn't forget them, did I? Until now." Everything seemed so scrambled in my head. Why couldn't I make it clear again?

"_Schuldig, wake up."_

"_Hn?"_

"_You were having a nightmare. You were yelling about the tower."_

Between Frau Sheffield's guidance and my own stubbornness, we got my visions a little under control. It had taken the better part of two months, but at least now I wasn't losing time on a daily basis. There were still moments, but that was just a fact of my life.

Now it was high summer, hot and sticky in the dorms and worse in the classrooms. At least Don and Jules didn't smell bad. The kids in my classes downright stank some days. I knew that was what happened when boys went through puberty, they started to smell different and get hairy and all, but damn! Being stuffed in a classroom with them in the middle of summer was pretty nasty.

I trudged back to my dorm room after a wearying session with Sheffield and Herr Cochran, a teacher who usually worked with empaths and illusionists. He specialized in ways to separate "self" from "other", a process of grounding that empaths sorely needed. Considering the unpredictable power of my own gift, Frau Sheffield thought he might be able to help me stay focused.

So far, all he'd done was give me a headache.

I wanted a nap. I wanted a shower. I'd settle for a few minutes of peace and quiet. I slunk into my room feeling more than half-dead.

But when I shut the door behind me, I realized I'd walked in on something uninvited. Donley sat on the edge of his bunk, and David Smythe stood in front of him, leaning in between Don's legs. Don wasn't wearing any pants, and –

I felt myself go scarlet as I darted back out of the room. My mind whirled, trying to decipher just what, exactly, I'd seen. My own fear of Konnor had colored that particular act, but Don certainly had not been afraid of Smythe! There was no indication that it was going any further than the obvious, either. The very fact I thought about that made me feel even more awkward, and a little excited.

Jules and I had only ever touched, though we'd done quite a lot of that in the past several months. I trusted him, and he trusted me, and it only ever went so far. He never asked, he never demanded, and I never had to tell him 'no'.

Suddenly I found myself wondering if that was all we'd ever share, before I lost him to his career in September. I didn't want him to go. He'd kept me warm when all around me was frozen, and he'd kept me grounded when all around me was in shambles. And mixed in with the deep and powerful friendship was this undercurrent of – what? What was I wanting from him?

And what was I willing to give?

The door opened, and Donley peeked out. He turned the wrong way first, then looked back and saw me standing there. "Hey, Crawford," he said with a sheepish grin, "sorry about that. You can come in now, if you want."

"Nah, it's okay, Don," I mumbled, painfully aware of my very visible hard-on.

"Look, you can't just stand in the hallway like that," he bantered. "Someone will see you and eat you up!"

I gave up and slipped back into our dorm room. "Ha ha. Big bad wolf, right?"

Smythe leaned back against Don's bunk and took a drag on his cigarette. He grinned around the filter and murmured, "The better to see you with, my dear."

Donley gave him a light punch on the arm. "You're my wolf, remember?"

I flopped onto the bunk beneath my own, not having the energy to climb up just yet. That, and I still had a bit of an embarrassment in my pants. I leaned back against the wall, hoping to turn my thoughts to something boring and failing totally. Images of Julian wafted through my mind: tall, sweet, gentle Julian. For a moment I could even smell the worn leather of his gloves, so honest and warm, so very different from Konnor's crisp white cotton.

"You okay, Crawford?" Donley asked, eyeing me closely. I could feel the gentle tendrils of his thoughts probing at my shields as though tasting for salt.

"Yeah," I said. "Just thinking, is all."

Donley and Smythe exchanged a look, and I realized they were talking telepathically. Smythe gave me a small smile as Don said, "If you and Jules don't mind, I'll hide out with David for a while tonight. You know he's leaving in another couple of months, I want to make his goodbye long and memorable."

Smythe chuckled, his expression fond and lewd. But Don's words hit something painful in me: Julian was leaving too.

Then I realized: Donley was trying to give me a hint, and I'd almost been too dense to catch it. The smile rolled across my face before I could stop it. "Thanks, Don. I appreciate that."

The two excused themselves, leaving me alone in the room with early evening sunbeams.

Julian arrived late. His Gamma division meetings ran just as unpredictably as my own sessions with Frau Sheffield: called on a moment's notice and lasting as long as they needed to. That was all right; I'd used the time to do some real thinking.

"Hey, Elvis." He smiled at me as he dropped his books on his desk. "Where's Don?"

"Underneath Smythe, most likely," I replied, trying not to laugh. I'd never been so outspoken about sex before, but talking about Don it seemed more right this way.

Julian stared a moment before busting out laughing. "O-kay, then! So you're just enjoying this little sauna all by yourself?" He peeled off his t-shirt, revealing a smooth expanse of lightly muscled chest and that tummy I knew to be ticklish as all get-out.

I realized he was right, that it was pretty warm in the room. I'd thought that was my own problem, but the day _had_ gotten rather hot. Following his lead, I shrugged out of my shirt, wrinkling my nose at the smell from the armpits. What was that I'd been thinking about the older boys smelling raunchy? Somewhere during the past few months, I'd started turning into one of those myself!

"Come on, I want a shower," Jules said, draping a towel over his shoulders.

I'd actually come to look forward to showering in this area of the dorms. The guys we shared this washroom with were all quiet and civil, and the hallway was off-limits to anyone not living there. In a word, it was safe, and I regarded it as a bit of a haven.

We only had an hour until lights-out, so it wasn't much surprise to find the showers empty. As we stripped and started the water, my mind spun, questioning my earlier decisions. I liked Julian maybe as much as Don liked Smythe, and I wanted to make his goodbye long and memorable, too. Problem was, there were some things I just didn't feel right about doing.

"Hey, are you zoning out over there?" Julian slipped an arm around my waist. His skin felt cool as though he'd been standing in the rain. "I thought you wanted to rinse off?"

I let him lead me back into the spray, both of us gasping a little at the brisk coolness of the water. It made a fantastic counterpoint to the summer heat, while at the same time driving me into the warmth of Julian's embrace. Suddenly the world condensed to two boys in the shower, bodies pressed together, external warmth the last thing on our minds. I looked into his eyes, read the affection there. I was pretty sure this wasn't anything more than friendship, love should feel different than this; still, I knew I didn't want to let him go, tonight or two months from now.

Somehow Julian had become my anchor, my lifeline, and I only knew of one way to thank him. They say you don't know what you've got until it's gone, but I knew better than to wait that long. I pushed away the thoughts of all the friends I'd lost without a goodbye, and turned all my attention to this one who was, for the moment, still with me.

Our lips met, still awkward after so many times, and my hands slid over his fair skin. Julian trembled slightly. His hands started to explore me, but I stopped them, pinning them to his sides. I was already excited, I didn't want him distracting me that way. When I got the feeling he'd stay put, I let go of his wrists and let my hands wander again. I couldn't resist running my fingers so lightly over that ticklish spot on his belly, just beside the navel. He flinched, and his cock reared up toward my hand. I gave him my best wicked look, then slid down until I was kneeling in front of him.

"You don't have to," he whispered, his voice all but washed away. His hands played with my hair, made waterfalls across my face.

"I know," I told him. Then I ran my tongue over the head of his cock, tasting the dimensions I knew so well by touch.

Julian gasped. His hands clenched in my hair, and for a moment I thought he was going to come right then. But he didn't, though his cock seemed to get even bigger.

I wrapped my left hand around it and licked it again. At the sound of his low groan, I got even bolder: I closed my lips around the head and suckled at it, bringing even more dark and rusty growls from his throat. The noises made me even more excited. I was already just as hard as Jules; my right hand snuck down and I started jacking off, anticipation and sensual reality blurring into the hottest cold shower of my life.

For a moment, my mind and body recalled Konnor doing this very same thing. I pushed those thoughts away. I refused to share Julian, even in my own mind. Julian was mine tonight, and Konnor was not welcome here.

My hand moved faster as I stroked myself in time with Julian's breathing. Strong hands clutched the back of my head, but gently, so gently. He guided me without demanding, and I gave without reservation.

Then Julian was pushing me off him, slipping out of my mouth, and taking himself firmly in hand. A few quick strokes and he spurted, catching me on the face and neck with it. His whole body arched into the shower spray, every muscle gleaming with mingled water and sweat. I shot off too, the look on his face more than enough to send me over the edge.

We hovered like that, him standing, me kneeling, for several seconds before Julian lowered himself to join me closer to the floor. He kissed me as the water rinsed away the last remnants of our pleasure, the evidence safely washed down the drain. It took a while for me to realize that the water on my face wasn't just from the shower: I was crying.

Julian stared into my eyes, seeing the truth before I even knew it myself. "I'm going to miss you too, Elvis."

**

* * *

**

**A/N:**

_There is freedom within, there is freedom without…_

"Don't Dream It's Over" – Crowded House _Crowded House_

I'm going to miss Julian too.


	23. 22

**22**

_Here, said she,_

_Is your card, the drowned Phoenician Sailor,_

_(Those are pearls that were his eyes. Look!)_

The weeks passed in a blur. Before I knew it, Donley and I were meeting our new dorm head, and Julian said goodbye forever. I managed not to cry, though it was one of the hardest moments of my life.

Julian looked so handsome and hopeful in his new uniform, the crisp black-and-tan of Prague's intelligence division. As he turned to go, he paused, taking a scrap of fabric out of his pocket. He raised the well-loved bookmark to his lips, though his eyes were kissing me.

And he was gone.

Time pulled me along, rushing ahead with barely a pause. Frau Sheffield had rearranged my schedule, so I had to get used to a whole new set of classes all over again. Gone were the Esset-approved history, the self-defense martial arts class, and half of my psi-theory courses. Now I found myself in a whirlwind mix of classes normally reserved for clairvoyants, empaths, and illusionists. The idea was to teach me a new method of grounding, something that would sustain me through the most chaotic of visions. Frau Sheffield had thought that one of these classes might hold the key.

Unfortunately, she had not gone through Herr General when changing my classes around. I figured this out by the sour expression on Konnor's face when I met with him for my yearly review. His temper had been short, his eyes hard, and he had glared at me with half-concealed accusation. He couldn't argue with my primary instructor, though, and once he'd convinced himself that I hadn't asked for those changes, his mood had shifted like quicksand.

And that frightened me.

More and more, whenever I was alone with Konnor, he would stand too close, or sit right next to me so our legs touched. At my review, he'd wasted no opportunity to brush my shoulder with his hand or to push my hair back from my forehead. I debated getting a buzz-cut, just so I wouldn't have enough hair for him to bother with, but then I thought maybe it would make him angry again.

Without Julian in my dorm to make me feel clean, those moments with Konnor seemed to seep into my skin, staining my spirit an odd, used kind of color. I began to remind myself of a dog that had been kicked around so much it would just wait for the boot, and I hated that. No, I didn't have the energy to hate. I just knew it, and vaguely remembered that I used to be so much more than that.

I struggled to adapt to my new courseload, I watched Donley tighten down his shields and his moods until he barely spoke, and I waited for the boot. It would come in the form of older students hunting for fresh meat, or Konnor's hungry touch – though he didn't go so far as to undress either of us, I knew what he was after, and every casual caress reminded me that he could have it any time he wanted.

Sometime around my birthday, the headaches started again. They would sneak up on me, with or without a vision to announce their arrival, and they would set up shop right behind my eyes. There were times I couldn't hardly see, it hurt so bad. My teachers were all aware of this, thanks to Frau Sheffield; she'd made me her own special project, and made certain that the rest of the staff knew I was to be given more leeway than usual. She wanted me sane, and strong, and resilient, and my gift was determined to defy her.

Moments blurred, vision flared, and I would find myself sitting in the clinic, a cold compress against the back of my head.

Other times I'd wake up in Sheffield's office, or my dorm room, or one awful time on Konnor's bed, the smell of brewing coffee strong enough to make me dizzy.

This wasn't working.

Donley offered, and I accepted his warmth, but nothing more. He'd hold me as I slept and dreamed and cried out in my sleep, and sometimes he would write down the things I said when I wasn't aware. He didn't promise me anything, because we both knew that Rosenkreuz invalidated all promises as a matter of course. But he was there, and he kept me saner than I might otherwise have been.

Our new dorm head, Rolf something-or-other, watched me cautiously from a distance. I had the feeling he'd wagered on my flipping out and was waiting to collect. He had orders to contact Frau Sheffield, then medical, then General Schoenberg if anything happened to me – in that order.

Once upon a time, my teachers and the librarian would have sent me to the school nurse, where she would have called my mama to come pick me up. Once upon a time, their biggest concern was that I'd break my glasses or sprain something in gym class. Once upon a time, I was not a cur, but a human being.

"Hey, Crawford." Donley ground out his cigarette and sat next to me, draping an arm around my shoulders. "You don't look so good."

I looked at him, and the tears just flowed. I couldn't explain why, or make them stop. It was as if the entire past two years folded in on top of me, burying me in a life I didn't want.

For the first time in my life, I wished I could just die – but I had the awful feeling that those who died within these walls remained trapped here forever. I didn't believe in an afterlife, or angels, or any of that, but I did believe in ghosts, and a tiny superstitious part of me almost believed in damnation, if only because Rosenkreuz fit the description of it so very well. My throat closed up and I sobbed wretchedly, clinging to Donley and wishing he were my brother.

I wanted so very much to go home, to see my family one more time.

Maybe if I was good, did what they wanted me to do, I'd be allowed to go back one day.

The vision rolled over me, warning me against that line of thought. If they sent me to recruit my baby sister, I would shoot her, and then myself. It was that simple.

"Do I need to call someone?" Rolf Pederson asked, his voice crisp and cool.

I looked around, confused. When had I –?

"Crawford, you okay?" Donley asked, holding me cautiously at arm's length and searching my eyes.

My hackles rose and lingered at alert. Had that been a vision? Had I lost time again? I looked down at my watch, checked first the time and then the calendar.

Last I'd known, it was the twelfth of December.

I tried to bite back a laugh, but choked on it instead. Fresh tears fell as I struggled to breathe around the mad giggles that refused to stop.

"I'm fine, Don. Merry fucking Christmas."

**

* * *

**

**A/N:**

_Here, said she,_

_Is your card, the drowned Phoenician Sailor,_

_(Those are pearls that were his eyes. Look!)_

"The Waste Land" – T.S. Eliot

Frau Sheffield has become Bradley's only real anchor to reality, now that Julian is gone. Bradley instinctively doesn't trust Konnor enough to rely on him, and besides, the man isn't a precognitive. There are things he can never understand.

The problem is, Bradley's gift doesn't seem to want an anchor…


	24. 23

**23**

_What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow_

_Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,_

_You cannot say, or guess, for you know only_

_A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,_

_And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,_

_And the dry stone no sound of water._

A sigh, a whisper…

"Brad…"

"Bradley…"

"_Bradley…"_

I woke with a start. Again. As I'd done for six days straight now.

Fumbling my glasses into place, I reached for my notebook to scribble down my dreams before they faded completely into the past. A vague paranoia demanded that I not be too specific in my writings; this journal would be seen by Frau Sheffield at the least, and there were some things I didn't feel safe setting down in ink.

Things like a red-haired man with the Devil's own smile, an albino who would hold my conscience when it became too heavy, and a boy who could move the ocean.

I didn't understand these visions, these dreams, but they repeated until I finally gave in and accepted that they seemed to be true. It didn't make sense, though. I was destined for a desk job, I'd been told so numerous times by both Sheffield and Konnor.

But in my dreams, I was a field team member. Maybe even their leader.

I didn't write that part down.

Then the headache kicked in. I pulled out the box of aspirin and tried to summon up enough spit to choke them down. They burned, and my eyes watered; I folded half a dozen tablets inside a scrap of paper and stuffed it in my pocket. This was going to be one of those days.

Before heading out to my classes, I made sure I had my hall pass from Frau Sheffield. It allowed me safe travel anywhere in the class buildings or Administration, so I could excuse myself to the clinic or to my mentor's office should the pain get too great. I remembered faintly that I'd gone to Konnor one afternoon after that awful time back in December, and woken up eight days later in Frau Sheffield's office.

More clearly I remembered the worried look in Konnor's eyes, and the taut line of Frau Sheffield's jaw.

I was falling apart.

And everyone knew it.

And we were all powerless to stop it.

I heaved a sigh and finished dressing, pushing through the fog of pain in my head and trying to ignore the flickers of Sight that hovered at the edge of my awareness like phantoms. My gramma wasn't crazy, and neither was my mom; I had their strength in me, and the strength of the land from my father.

I was terrified. I wasn't broken enough to just accept the madness as it came for me, and I almost wished I was. It would be so much easier to slip away if only I had no hope left. Something inside of me refused to surrender, prolonging the torment, making me count the minutes until time came undone for good.

_They will never take my team alive._

My fingers fumbled at the buttons on my jacket, mismatched a set and had to rebutton them.

"_Don't answer it! If you don't answer, it's not real."_

"_I remembered your phone number."_

_The steel is cold as I put the muzzle of his gun to my forehead and his eyes fill with tears. "I'm sorry, Bradley. I…I can't."_

"_Que horas são?"_

"Bradley?"

"Huh?" I blinked, more disoriented than I could say.

Shelton Grant set a cup of tea in front of me. It smelled of lemons and spice. His eyes regarded me with no small amount of concern. "Did you have a pleasant trip?"

"No, sir," I whispered, lifting the cup with trembling hands. "May I have some water, please? I need to take some aspirin." I didn't recognize my own voice. It sounded flat, like an actor pretending to be from nowhere.

Mr. Grant sighed and sat down opposite me. He rubbed at his own temples as though sharing my pain. "You already took two tablets about twenty minutes ago, give it a few to settle in. Too much of that can wreak havoc on your blood. I shall have to contact your primary instructor, Bradley. She may be pushing you too hard." He shook his head, frowning. "This is ridiculous. I am watching a perfectly good precognitive go to waste for mismanagement, and a decent boy besides. I shall put in my recommendation that you be transferred to Berlin or Prague, for proper training."

My heart leaped for joy. Prague! Julian was at Prague, if I could go there –

_I would never meet the red-haired man with laughing eyes, or save the starving child, or learn the truth behind the fire._

I swallowed. "Thank you, sir, but I don't think that will happen. All my visions have me staying here, and they feel like they're right." As much as I hated to admit it, there was a sense of fate involved, and it did not intend for me to go to Prague.

Berlin, however, was uncertain…

_A slender man with sandy brown hair and a wide smile, the red-haired man in an officer's uniform, the boy in the red shirt…_

Time bent, splintered. Were these possible futures? Was that what I had been seeing, dreaming, living in a sleepwalk state?

"Sir?" I glanced up, intending to ask Mr. Grant what he thought about the visions.

Donley snorted a laugh. "Get a grip, Crawford! I don't outrank you. Yet."

I lay back on my cot and surrendered to the madness.

**A/N:**

_What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow_

_Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,_

_You cannot say, or guess, for you know only_

_A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,_

_And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,_

_And the dry stone no sound of water._

"The Waste Land" – T.S. Eliot

If you find yourself confused by this chapter, imagine how young Bradley must feel. Not only is he getting a constant barrage of conflicting possibilities, he has to present a calm façade in spite of it all. He is seeing multiple futures, none of which is secure at this point. One word, one moment, one step not taken and everything changes.


	25. 24

24

**24**

_I will show you something different from either_

_Your shadow at morning striding behind you_

_Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;_

_I will show you fear in a handful of dust._

:Does he have to sit here?:

:Shut up and move over.: Donley shoved the other telepath down a space on the bench, clearing room for me.

I set my tray down and settled onto the hard seat. The other boys at the table watched me as if they thought I might sprout a second head or something.

Donley and the boy beside him continued their discussion, Donley's mental voice fading in and out against the other's clear whine. I nudged Don in the ribs. "Your friend's projecting."

Donley gaped at me. "You heard that?"

"Yeah, I heard that," I replied, aggravated. It was enough to know that the other kids thought I was just this side of crazy without having to hear random thoughts on the subject. "Tell him to forget about the bet, he's gonna lose."

A soft chorus of "oooooh!" went up around me as the other young blue-shirts rounded on the telepath in question. His face flushed scarlet.

I picked at my food and muttered, "You want the inside scoop, come to the source. I'm not out of the game yet."

Jaxon Norwood leaned around Donley and offered his hand. I already knew his name, because in those few moments I'd Seen his introduction. "I didn't mean to piss you off, Crawford. Jaxon Norwood, fourth year."

I shook his hand and smiled. He would either die in the next year or graduate into field work, or transfer to the Berlin medical corps. His future was not written yet. This did not make me feel any better.

I allowed Donley to bring his friends and associates into my life, with the understanding that I wasn't interested in anything more than conversation. The way I kept losing time, I wanted all the possible anchors and reference points I could get. I did not want physical complications. There was already too much potential for that every time I visited my mentor.

As April swallowed the last of winter's frost, it took my time sense with it again. Visions of towers and fire haunted my days, dreams of combat and despair haunted my nights. Rachelle's favorite poem flowed in uneven waves through my thoughts, weaving dream and vision together in molten waves.

April.

Something terrible will happen, and I will be powerless to stop it.

No. I will be part of its cause.

"You sure I shouldn't just up the wager?" Jaxon stage-whispered, or projected, or shouted to Donley. I really couldn't tell the difference today.

Today? I looked at my watch.

March twenty-third.

I had all of April to re-live again.

"Crawford!"

I woke on Frau Sheffield's couch.

"Stay still, Crawford." She gazed down into my eyes, a frown line creasing her forehead. "Do you know the date?"

My blood ran cold. I struggled to sit up, to see my watch, to fling myself out the window.

"Easy, Bradley. Don't try to move yet."

I couldn't breathe.

Time had swallowed me whole. Hole. I had fallen down the rabbit hole…

The unmistakable sharp stink of an ammonia capsule brought me back to the present. I reeled back as my nose burned and my eyes watered.

_Please don't ask me if I know the date, or the year, or my name. My name. Bradley Michael Crawford. I'm 15 years old. I think._

_Telepaths lose their names._

_I am not a telepath._

_Why do I feel lost?_

Donley held me as I wept, and every time I begged him to tell me the date, he repeated, "April eighth, 1989."

**A/N:**

_I will show you something different from either_

_Your shadow at morning striding behind you_

_Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;_

_I will show you fear in a handful of dust._

"The Waste Land" – T.S. Eliot

There isn't much I can add here, so I'll leave you to your own thoughts.


	26. 25

25

**25**

_Madame Sosostris, famous clairvoyante,_

_Had a bad cold, nevertheless_

_Is known to be the wisest woman in Europe,_

_With a wicked pack of cards._

"It seems that you have picked up a bit of a pattern." Frau Sheffield regarded me from behind a veil of steam. The vaporizer perched on her desk, churning out a medicated fog to battle her springtime cold. She sniffled, raised a linen handkerchief to her nose, dabbed delicately. "Patterns, Herr Crawford, draw attention."

The lingering headache hovered behind my eyes as though daring me to speak. I took a deep breath and nodded stiffly. The steam tasted funny, not like the menthol stuff I was used to. It wasn't half bad; I found myself breathing easily, and the headache began to fade.

Frau Sheffield smiled. "I find this herbal remedy quite useful for headaches myself. It's an old recipe, recommended by the Elders, in fact. That, and the vaporizer itself tends to block psi powers. A subtle electro-magnetic field, very small and rather weak, but I find that it's invaluable when all other methods fail. And I have received permission to allow you access to it. So please, do make yourself comfortable, Crawford. There are many things we need to discuss, you may as well relieve that headache with me."

I relaxed a little, leaning back in the wingback chair she had offered instead of the usual desk seat. The fabric was scratchy, a faded rose color with patterns in gold thread. I'd always wondered if it were an antique but never bothered to ask. With every breath, my head felt clearer. There was one brief flare of anger, where I wondered why they'd taken so long to let me try this; I'd been suffering for over a year now, and feared for my sanity for much of that time. But then her words sank in: Frau Sheffield had asked for permission to share it.

Permission from whom?

I decided I'd be happier not knowing just yet.

"I have discussed your visions with my superiors," Sheffield stated. "They are quite interested in you, Crawford. If your gift continues to grow, they will no doubt wish to meet with you in person. It is my task to prepare you for this eventuality." She tapped the vaporizer for emphasis as she said, "And I have secured permission to try more exotic methods in your case. This is quite unusual for a student, Herr Crawford."

"I do appreciate it, Frau Sheffield," I told her with all sincerity. Though the pain-clearing vapors left me feeling a little odd, a little disconnected from my Sight, the relief was totally worth it.

"Obviously you have tuned in to a specific event in the future, something so pivotal that it will not let you rest. We shall try to shift the burden to other minds, to give you some rest from it. Perhaps, if I and Madame Chairman can isolate this event, your visions of it will relax somewhat. My goal is to lessen the urgency of these seasonal outbursts, rather than allow them to continue escalating."

"What should I do, then?" I asked. I didn't understand how this was supposed to work; how could other precognitives affect my visions? The future would come, and announce its plans to everyone within earshot. It wasn't like intercepting a phone call, or was it?

Frau Sheffield poured herself some more tea, refilled my cup. The mint clashed with the vaporizer, but the warmth further soothed my head. "Continue working on your shields," she told me. "Make yourself strong. You may come to me at any time, day or night. If I am in a class, request a messenger to alert me."

Nervous, I licked my lips, looked away from her and murmured, "What about my mentor, ma'am? I thought I was supposed to go directly to him first." I couldn't help but imagine his fury when he found out what Sheffield had just suggested. It seemed like she was overturning his authority with me, not that I minded; it was his reaction I was afraid of.

Frau Sheffield frowned thoughtfully, sipping her tea as she chose her reply. "General Schoenberg is a good man, but at times a misguided one. He has no clear understanding of your gift, or of mine, though he does sincerely try. His is the physical world, not the realm of possibilities, Crawford. The solutions he offers…" She shook her head. "They work for some. They do not work for you. I cannot have you reassigned, and in truth, I have no time for mentorship. My own gift precludes it. But I think even Schoenberg will comply with the will of the Elders. It's in his best interest, after all."

My mind spun around her words, the implications beneath them ringing into echoes in my head. I barely caught her next comments in the rush.

"Of course, for your regular schooling and your reviews, you will still report to him. However, for any Sight-related problems, you come directly to me. Don't even bother contacting him, I'll send him a copy of my report." Her smile turned momentarily dark as she said, "If he wishes to balance his career upon your shoulders, he will simply have to learn to share. The Elders do not take this situation lightly, Crawford. Your gift is something they have been waiting for, for a very long time."

I wondered if she meant any of that to be comforting, because if she had, it didn't work. I swallowed. This had nothing to do with me, and everything to do with my usefulness to someone else. My bitterness must have shown on my face, because Sheffield reached across the desk and put her hand over mine, bringing my attention back to her.

"I know this is hard to understand. A boy, no matter the circumstance of his life, will be forced to make many difficult decisions before he is considered a man. Boys do not survive Esset. Boys crave protection, nurturing, safety. Men create their own. And do not think that this does not grieve me. But every culture crafts its boundaries and its rites of passage as it sees fit, to ensure the strength of its future. Esset is no different. Yes, I see you as a boy, Crawford. Schoenberg searches for the man. To some, it does not matter. To those, if you are not prepared when the call comes, you fail."

"You mean the Elders," I whispered, trying to comprehend the meaning behind her statements. It seemed like there was something I kept missing, no matter how hard I tried to figure it out. Maybe the message was simpler than it looked.

"And Herr Sonndheim." Her eyes bored into me as she stated, "He has more at stake here than your mentor. I believe you can anticipate the gravity of that fact, Herr Crawford?"

My mouth went dry. I nodded, unable to speak.

Frau Sheffield frowned to herself, as though debating how much to tell me. Then she sighed and leaned across the desk, folding her slender arms under her bosom and resting her forehead on the cool wood.

I felt a tremor in the Sight, and realized she was trying to pull a Vision for herself. If she could do that, in spite of her cold and the electro-magnetic interference, could I possibly learn to have that much control myself someday?

She shuddered, then sat up and rubbed at her eyes. "How odd."

"Ma'am?"

"Something is blocking you in my Sight this evening, Crawford." She regarded me with mild concern. "It's as though your future is at a crossroads, and your choice has not yet been made. Be very careful these next few days, boy. Make no enemies. And try to make no mistakes."

The hair on the back of my neck stood on end. "Is it Sonndheim?"

"No, he has nothing to do with this. Although…" Sheffield shook her head. "No. His part in the play is mostly set. The greatest variable…is you."

The vaporizer hissed as it ran out of water.

Frau Sheffield unplugged it, coiled the cord with exaggerated care.

Nothing out of place tonight, except me…

She smiled softly and rose from her seat. "Get some sleep, Crawford. Come see me tomorrow night, same time. We'll use this again if it proves helpful to you."

After she showed me out, I checked my watch. I'd probably miss curfew, but my pass allowed for that. I made sure it was safely tucked in my jacket, ran a hand through my hair, and set off toward my dorm building.

They'd been doing construction on the campus all spring, though I'd barely noticed it through the fog of visions. I recalled the mess downstairs, rendering the entryway a narrow tunnel, and I shivered. I didn't want to deal with that again, especially after that turn of discussion. This building connected with the next on the fourth floor; I figured I could find the stairs there easily enough, as the floor plans were fairly standard.

I trudged up the steps, then through the walkway into the empty class building. At this hour, there should be no students lurking around to cause trouble, so I proceeded with confidence. Besides, I had a pocket full of aspirin and cigarettes – in the coin of the realm, I was a rich man and could barter my way out of nearly anything. And if all that failed, I still had my hall pass.

But when I reached the door that I thought was the stairwell, it opened on a classroom. Somehow I'd gotten turned around; figures I'd find the one building with a newer-model floor plan. I wandered a bit, then realized I should be able to follow the wear marks on the floor until I found the stairs. This made me feel pretty clever and I smiled to myself as I set off on my quest, gaze firmly set on the tiles before my feet.

_"The greatest variable…is you."_

Something made me look up. My heart clenched as I realized I had taken another wrong turn, and I was not alone here.

**25**

_Madame Sosostris, famous clairvoyante,_

_Had a bad cold, nevertheless_

_Is known to be the wisest woman in Europe,_

_With a wicked pack of cards._

"The Waste Land" – T.S. Eliot

For the third year in a row, Bradley has buckled under visions of a cruel and violent April. No one can dismiss this as coincidence now. He has gotten the attention of the Elders, and they will be watching him. The question that bothers me is, what do they need him to become in order to fulfill their own twisted destiny? Makes me wonder how much of what came after was orchestrated long ago…and whether one player in particular knew his part, and re-wrote it.


	27. 26

25

**26**

_It's the nexus of the crisis_

_And the origin of storms_

_Just the place to hopelessly_

_Encounter time, and then came…_

_It's him._

The boy stood at the far corner where two corridors meet, his shoulder against the wall. His light gray jacket lay open and rumpled, the red t-shirt beneath clinging to his chest. Dark wavy hair spilled across his neck as he turned his head to look behind him.

Fear closed my throat, making it hard to breathe. This could be very bad. Frau Sheffield had gone out of her way to warn me not to make any enemies. Though I'd Seen this boy in my visions, I realized suddenly that I never had any context for him. There was no evidence at all that he would be anything other than dangerous to me.

I had to get out of there, and fast. I took a halting step backward, then another, never taking my eyes off him.

He turned and looked right at me, his eyes dark and crafty, and he began to move. Toward me. "Hey, kid," he called softly, his long legs making short work of the distance between us. "You a telepath? Never mind. Come on!" Before I could react, he grabbed my wrist and hauled me along at a run. A corner of my mind noted that he'd turned me around and we were running back the way I'd come, down a flight of stairs – damn, so I HAD missed them! – and back out into another corridor.

The rest of my mind whirled and spun, throwing visions like sparks too fast to see. Dizziness almost took me under as I Saw my own legs and feet running down a different flight of stairs, fire and smoke seeping into the stairwell from above. _I am wearing white, not gray, when I flee the first tower…_

The soft click of a door brought me back to the present. I looked around, trying to get my bearings. It didn't help. I was in one of those classrooms that had been turned into storage for extra desks and the like. The room was an almost impassable maze of furniture; my claustrophobia trembled at the edge of control, startling a bark of nervous laughter from me as I tried not to lose it.

"Shut up!" the older boy hissed.

In my momentary panic I'd forgotten I wasn't alone. "You don't know who I am, do you? You can't do this to me!" I tried to seem as imposing as possible, which wasn't much in spite of Sheffield's promises of safety. Anything could happen here, with no witnesses and no escape. My heart pounded with fear as I realized the older boy had locked the door – I was trapped. Reason overrode ego; I took a deep breath and opened my mouth, intending to try to bargain with him, when I heard the echo of running footsteps on the stairs. We both stood there in silence until they passed. It sounded like they went up instead of down, so I took the moment to try and sort things out. "Who are you hiding from?"

The red-shirted boy peeked out the little window set in the door, then stage-whispered, "It's none of your concern." Even muffled, his voice carried a distinct Spanish sort of accent, surprising in this sterile place.

"Then why did you kidnap me?" The words flew out on their own, fueled by fear and adrenalin. Rather than admit it was a stupid thing to say, I plunged in deeper, ready to sic the Elders themselves on him if need be. "You shouldn't have done that. I'm very important to some very powerful people. You're going to be in a lot of trouble –"

"I know who you are." He flashed me a wolfish grin, bright against dark, before turning back toward the window. "You're The Precog."

The way he said it, I could hear the capital letters like a title. I puffed up a little, hoping he knew just what that meant. "That's right, so you'd better –"

"Do you See anything?"

_He cut me off – twice!_ _Who does this joker think he is?_ Angry indignation boiled over. I gave a disgusted snort and folded my arms across my chest. "You're the one at the window, you tell me."

The red-shirted boy blinked, tilted his head a little as if trying to make sense of my words before turning to look directly at me.

I swallowed nervously, convinced that my big mouth had just signed my death warrant.

But then he laughed, a soft and warm kind of laugh that sounded genuinely surprised. "No," he murmured, "I meant…" and he tapped the side of his head.

"No, I don't See anything," I grumbled. "Look, you really are going to be in trouble if you don't let me out of here right now." Something about the situation had all my alarms going off at once, and the internal noise was deafening. I was in over my head, and I didn't even know how I'd gotten into this mess. One wrong turn…

_…your future is at a crossroads, and your choice has not yet been made…_

"Ah, shit, they're coming back! Get away from the door!" Moving fast, the guy turned and pinned me to the wall, effectively blocking me from sight. Anyone looking in the window would see nothing but shadows and the shadow-gray back of his jacket.

For several moments, for an eternity, we stood there, neither of us moving. Cherry black eyes bored into mine, gleaming like embers at midnight.

Then the panic won. He was too close, there wasn't enough air… "Well, why don't you just let me out of here?" I asked. My voice sounded whiny, almost begging. "I won't tell anybody, I swear it!" I heard myself getting louder, fueled by a growing terror. In the dim light, with this boy almost pressing me to the wall, the room seemed to draw in and shrink.

The boy glared at me, his eyes hot. "Shut up, will you?" he snarled. "I think they're still out there."

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, hoping against hope that I could get out of here before my claustrophobia made me suicidally stupid. "Just let me go! It'd be better for both of us, right? I have cigarettes, and aspirin! And a hall p–"

"For God's sake, shut up!" With decisive force, he pressed his lips to mine, silencing me neatly…and setting my future in stone.

Reality exploded, flying apart like springs and clockworks that had been wound too tightly.

_running across the tarmac, it's not time, must stall – _

_red hair, frantic tears, it's all right, it's all right –_

_little child, too small, lifting him like he weighs nothing, holding him close though he is filthy against a spotless tailored suit –_

_screaming tires and gunshots –_

_black swans on sunset waves –_

_bootlegger turn on a narrow mountain highway, windshield shot out, a German battle cry…_

_My God!_

Frantic, I pushed at the boy's chest: I had to get him off me before I drowned!

He staggered back a couple of steps, his impossible eyes almost black and his breathing shaky. One hand reached out to me as if imploring me to stay.

I rushed for the door, fear for my sanity overwhelming all else and driving me to the edge of reason. Never had my gift _surged_ like that, without stealing time or leaving pain behind. No, this time it had risen and crashed around me like the sea, _oh not the sea please not again –!_

My feet tangled up with his and I felt myself falling – _falling, why do I expect a splash?_ But it wasn't a splash, it was a thump as we hit the floor and I landed on top of him, pulled there by strong, protective arms. He cradled my head in his hands, and he made no sound of complaint though he had landed hard on his hip and shoulder.

"You all right?" he gasped, searching my face for the answer.

I stared down at him, my mind reeling. _He…he caught me. He would always catch me. _"Yes," I whispered. "I'm all right." For some reason I didn't really care to move just yet. Instead, I just lay sprawled across this strange young man, feeling the echo of his heartbeat within my own ribs.

I could have stayed there forever. In a way, I think I did.

He gazed up at me, his dark eyes filled with wonder. Did he know what he had done to me? For I knew without doubting that the burst of Sight, that wild, unstoppable explosion like the birth of stars, had somehow come from him.

Moving as though checking himself for broken parts, he rolled us over so I was on my back on the floor. He crouched over me, his eyes never leaving mine. I could taste the scent of him, vital and alive and redolent of canvas and sweat. Calloused fingers brushed my cheek, then slipped my glasses off and set them carefully aside.My mind whirled; the breath caught in my throat as the Sight seemed to coil back on itself and wait for another invitation to dance.

As from a great distance I Saw the boys who had chased him here giving up and returning to their usual haunts. The building would soon be empty, except for the two of us. I had taken a wrong turn, and found _that which_ _I had been searching for all along._

_And so had he._

He studied my face and murmured, "You know, you really are kind of cute," as if that was the greatest compliment in the world. His softly rolling accent made the words sound like a prayer, and the awkward blush that darkened his cheeks declared an emotion he had no words for. "And, you have beautiful eyes."

This surprised me, as I'd never thought of them as anything other than brown.

He swallowed, seemed to blink back tears; his lips parted and sipped at my breath as though it were the last thing he would ever taste.

We met in the middle, in a clumsy, hurried kiss. My arms lifted to wrap around his back, clinging to the solidness of him. I moaned against his mouth as my back arched, bringing my belly up against his, and only his powerful arms kept us both from crashing to the floor as visions cartwheeled through my head, leaving behind chaos hints in gossamer but no solid evidence of their passing. _Black car, white suit, red hair, blue eyes._ Moments – people – lifetimes – _possibilities_ flashed into existence, then scattered.

Somehow, impossibly, this older boy had turned me into a precognitive lightning rod.

I clung to this strange boy, this young man who trembled above me. I didn't believe in souls, but I _knew_ him, _I know him!_ Tears spilled from my eyes, and low animal sounds came from deep inside me as I watched everything I thought I understood fly right out of existence to be replaced with the deepest wonder in the world.

_We are one. Somehow, we are one. Bodies are so cumbersome, compared to the untethered spirit…_ Were these his thoughts? It didn't matter. In the mad desperation of the moment, we had collided and found each other here, in this place of the damned. Only together could we claim our destiny.

I couldn't think clearly. The Sight boiled inside me, pulled toward this mysterious youth like the tide rising at the call of moon. It showed me giving myself to this young man, joining with him physically in an echo of a greater union I couldn't comprehend. It resonated, profound and…sacred. Yes, _sacred – now I understand what that word means!_ – and when the dark boy pulled back from the kiss, I _knew_.

_There should be a bed for this, a field of flowers at the very least, but we are here, and we have not yet been missed. We are alone and safe for the moment. It will have to be enough._

My hands slid up under his t-shirt to glide over the sweat-slick muscles of his back, recognizing every curve and plane. He didn't move as I explored him, though as my fingers traced the contours of his belly he closed his eyes and let a soft moan pass between kiss-warmed lips.

When my hands unfastened his belt and his pants, his hips lurched forward and he gasped. The tips of my fingers found him aroused and straining at his underwear. Gently, reverently, I pushed the fabric down, freeing him. _This is so familiar, so right…there is nothing about this boy that could ever hurt me…and everything meant to set me free._

The feeling of already knowing him in every possible way only intensified as I wrapped my hand around him and squeezed.

_What am I doing?_ For a moment fear and common sense rose up in me, begging me to reconsider as Sheffield's warning echoed in my head. Then the red-shirted boy opened his eyes and smiled down at me, bright against dark, and I remembered him all over again. I felt myself smile back at him as I unfastened my own belt and trousers, my face growing hot as I slid my pants down for him. I had never offered myself to anyone before, but somehow I had never wanted anything so much as this.

His hands were warm, trailing gentle fire up my legs where his fingers passed. The more he touched me, with lips, hands, fingers, the more the visions responded, and my body with them. I whimpered against his mouth, I rose up into his hand, the Sight rose up –

_violet eyes, the crimson swordsman –_

_gold eyes, the essence of chaos –_

_blue eyes, laughing –_

Coal-bright eyes, midnight embers, the spirit of fire gazed down upon me, an echo of my visions dancing in his eyes. I stared up at him, dumbstruck. _He stopped them! How did he –?_ Never wavering, his eyes searched mine for signs of pain as he pushed into me, spit-slick and hot. He bit his lip as desire and restraint pulled him apart, wanting to move faster but not allowing himself to do so.

_How could I tell him that it didn't hurt?_

I arched up again and caught his wounded lip between my own, freeing it from his teeth and sucking gently at the swollen flesh.

He moaned softly against my mouth, the sound barely more than a whisper and yet its meaning so very plain.

I wrapped my legs around his hips and pulled our bodies together as tight as they could get. _Closer, I want him closer…_

He drank my breath, drawing me out of myself and into the brightness of him as his body began the ancient rhythm of sex, claiming me with all the strength and grace of an angel constrained to mortal form.

The Sight slipped free once more, but gently, and as powerful as fate. Reality bent, warping into a mosaic of possibilities that, for one brilliant moment, I could almost touch.

I Saw the swordsman, and fire, and a hundred other things _that WILL come to pass, these WILL be real, I WILL walk in those places and escape the burning tower three times and at my side shall be the son who is not my own and my beloved wife who is not a woman and the man who is vengeance made flesh, and together we shall hold the sword of destiny in our hands…_

Confusion and joy danced through me, toppling the wild visions and anchoring me to nothing more solid than the west wind. I bit down on the boy's lip to keep all sound inside me as a shattering climax tossed me into the very center of the storm.

"_Hey, kid…"_

_Warm, honest laughter_

_The smile, bright against dark_

"_I forgot to give you something."_

"_Que horas são?"_

_A promise never to be broken_

"_Bradley, look at me."_

Time paused, stretched, then put itself back together, though somehow changed.

He maintained eye contact as he pulled back, only looking away to hand me my trousers. As he stood, he smiled at me, bright against dark. He looked thoughtful, rumpled, and a little tired.

He looked perfect.

The older boy glanced down, then bent and picked up my glasses from the floor. More graceful than a guy his size had any right to be, he knelt in front of me and gently slid my glasses into place. He looked like he wanted to kiss me again. But instead he rose and went back over to the door. He peeked out the window. "So, do you See anything?"

"No," I replied, feeling mischievous, "you're hogging the view."

He laughed out loud, a wonderful rich laugh that promised many more to follow it. "That's not what I mean," he murmured, his voice as warm as the rest of him.

I had to laugh too, then just smiled at him as I joined him by the door. His eyes took on a soft depth I had never seen before; I didn't know eyes could be so deep. "It's okay," I replied, trying not to lose sight of the question. "You'll get back to your dorm all right."

"What about you?" he asked, gently tucking my hall pass into my jacket.

"I'll be fine," I told him. "I've Seen both of us safe in our beds tonight."

He regarded me with that same warm smile and asked, "What's your name?"

"Bradley," I told him. "Bradley Crawford."

"Bradley, huh?" The sound of my name rolled across his tongue like candy. "Well, Bradley, we'll see each other again." Still smiling, he tugged the door open and vanished down the hallway.

As I hurried off toward my own room, I felt like I was flying.

And I didn't even know his name.

**26**

_It's the nexus of the crisis_

_And the origin of storms_

_Just the place to hopelessly_

_Encounter time, and then came…_

"Astronomy" – Blue Öyster Cult _Secret Treaties_

just smiles…


	28. 27

27

**27**

_Change is in the air_

In the fog of waking after deep and comfortable sleep, I lay quietly in my bed and let memory wash over me, memory of an amazing chance meeting and the boy who had haunted my visions. I could still feel his touch upon my skin.

Then I woke up for real. My eyes flew open and I stared at the ceiling in utter mortification. _What was I THINKING last night?_ I'd given myself over to another student without a fight – that's the kind of thing that gets a reputation, and that was not the kind of reputation I wanted! It would make me a target, an easy mark. He'd tell all his buddies, and soon they'd be after me like rogue dogs on a bitch in heat.

Moving as though I'd lost all will to function, I made my way to the showers. Once there I had to deal with the fact that I had done what I'd done, and there was no changing it. I scrubbed at my skin, angry with myself for having done something so stupid. I should have known better, damn it!

As I washed, though, a little part of my mind told me I was touching where he had touched, where I had wanted him to touch. I closed my eyes and saw that bright smile, heard his gentle laugh. My body remembered him with much less cynicism than my brain; blushing furiously, I turned the water to 'cold' and hoped it would discourage my sudden hard-on.

He'd said my eyes were beautiful.

"You okay, Crawford?" Donley stepped into the spray next to me, his face upturned to the water. "You've been in here a while."

I replied on auto-pilot. "Yeah, I'm good. Just thinking."

Donley glanced down at me and smirked. "I can see that!"

I blushed furiously and turned a little away from him. My body seemed determined to embarrass me today. I felt vulnerable and more than a little scared; if I couldn't get things under control, I'd be in for a rough morning.

Donley's warm hand landed on my shoulder, solid and reassuring. "I'll keep watch, if you need a minute."

I swallowed hard. The last thing I wanted to do was jack off in front of Donley while thinking about that red-shirted boy –

"Whoa, who, there?" Donley moved to look at my face. "Your shields just sort of melted, Crawford – what happened last night?"

"Nothing," I gasped, wanting to escape but unable to find a gracious way out of the situation. "I'm fine, Don, really."

Donley studied my face, met my gaze, and I felt him slide into my thoughts as easy as a warm knife going through butter. His mouth fell open at what he found there. "I can't let you go out there like this, Crawford, and I don't mean the come-hither gesture. Take a minute and deal with that, I'll help with the rest, all right? Unless you'd like a hand…?"

"No thanks, just keep watch, okay?" I couldn't make myself forget about that boy, about the way he'd touched me, woken up something that had slumbered for so very long, so close to being forgotten forever. In spite of the cool water spray, I could smell his scent around me, warm and smoky and real; I could feel his touch, strong and sure and giving more than he took. He'd given himself to me, more completely than I had surrendered to him – somehow, I knew this, and it thrilled me beyond imagining. I bit my lip to keep from making noise as I came hard, my flesh remembering every tremor from last night.

The only things missing were the visions, and him.

Discreet as only a close friend can be, Donley handed me the soap. He waited until I'd regained my composure and cleaned up before saying, "We definitely need to talk."

Back in our room, as we finished dressing for the day, Donley ran me through some shielding practice. He frowned a little and told me, "It's weird, Crawford. Back in the showers you were wide open – projecting, even. Now you're fine. What's going on with you?"

A blush threatened to call me a liar as I said, "Nothing. Just a little weird today, that's all."

"Who's the redshirt?"

My voice stuck in my throat, leaving my mouth hanging open in silence.

Donley heaved a sigh and gripped my by the shoulders. He shook me gently to emphasize the telepathic chiding. :You shouldn't mess around with those guys, you don't know what you're getting into. You know better than to endanger yourself like that! I have half a mind to tell your mentor.:

"No! No, Don, it wasn't anything important," I blurted, unaccountably afraid for the mysterious dark-eyed boy.

My friend stared into my eyes, challenging my shields, pulling at my memories. I scowled and locked everything behind a wall of remembered sound: radio KBMC had returned to broadcast, loud and clear.

Donley smirked. "That's more like it. Keep a lid on this, okay? I got enough of a look that I'd recognize him again, I'm going to check him out for you." He raised a hand to silence my complaint and explained, "Whenever a redshirt takes an interest in one of us, it's usually a very dangerous thing. I don't have to remind you, do I?"

Trevor's ghost hovered at my memory. I closed my eyes and nodded. I didn't want to believe that the boy I'd met could possibly hurt me, but I couldn't deny the facts. Redshirts were predators. I was prey.

Hell, Konnor himself was a redshirt.

"Just don't tell anyone, promise me?" I whispered.

"I promise. I'll just ask around, see if anyone knows who this guy is, what he's into. I have to tell you, he looks awfully familiar." Donley grinned then, leaned in close and whispered, "Hard to tell from that angle."

I punched him on the arm. "Cut it out!"

Don laughed and picked up his books. "Come on, we'll be late for breakfast."

As we walked, I kept glancing around, half expecting to see the dark-eyed boy among the crowd. I scanned the faces in the cafeteria, hopeful and frightened at the same time. But he wasn't there.

I couldn't have imagined him, could I? No, he'd been real – my body was certain of that!

But…there were very few people who only had one psi talent. What if he'd been some kind of telepath or illusionist too? Or an empath? Dread rolled over me like a low-flying storm, leaving me disoriented and more than a little scared. I'd been wide open to the Sight, and this was right after a session with Frau Sheffield. Had my shields just let this guy in?

He didn't take my hall pass. Most predators take a token of their conquest, like cigarettes or a pass. He'd made a point of tucking mine back into my jacket…

Donley's thoughts came through like a station break. :Okay, now that I see his face better I know where to start.:

:Crap!: I struggled to maintain a cacophony of rock music in my head. If Donley could get in that easy, I was in serious trouble. The last thing I wanted was for any of the teachers to find out. That seemed nasty, as if they were there watching me, and last night…was something different from all that.

:Crawford.: Donley pinched me up under my jacket. :Your thoughts are spinning, and your shields are forgetting their job. If you liked it that much, fine, lock it away somewhere safe in your head and get on with it. Keep obsessing like that, and you'll find yourself in Sonndheim's office before the day's out. Someone's bound to notice, and we both know it won't be pretty.:

His warning chilled me to the core. Privacy was not something the instructors encouraged. In fact, it seemed that they allowed it only as much as absolutely necessary. If Konnor found out – and he would find out, especially if I got distracted in class and ended up with another one-way ticket to Herr Sonndheim.

And I didn't want to consider what they might do to the red-shirted boy. Frau Sheffield had pointed out what I'd suspected all along, that Konnor had gambled his career on me. His own preferences aside, I was sure he wouldn't be happy about sharing.

I concentrated on my shields, forcing myself to drink all of my weak coffee until my hand stopped shaking. Something was out of place – the greatest variable, was it still me? Or had it changed?

:Watch your back today, Crawford. Meet me for lunch?: Donley clapped a hand on my back as we parted at the door. :I'll see what I can find out. You work on staying inside your thick skull – and keeping everyone else on the other side.:

"See you, Don," I replied out loud, doubting my ability to send anything coherent through any other channel. I tried to remember some of my favorite classic rock, to weave my shields together with a little bit of metal. The pun caught me off guard and I smirked, letting my thoughts veer into a momentary silliness: if the three little pigs built houses from straw, wood, and brick, what was I building from rock and metal?

A fortress stronger than the concrete of Rosenkreuz.

I locked that thought away the moment I saw it, but I couldn't deny the truth of it. That was exactly what I was trying to build, and it was the only thing that could out-last the tower.

My mind felt still and calm as I entered my first class of the day, and I took coherent notes for a coming exam in world events. My second class erupted into a debate between two older students over the best way to train a clairsentient to turn their gift on at will, as the teacher took his own notes. My longest morning class, the one with Frau Sheffield, focused on book studies as our teacher had lost her voice overnight.

As the lunch bell rang, I followed the herd through the door, intent on my meeting with Donley.

My feet seemed to stick to the ground as I comprehended the answer to a puzzle I hadn't even known I was trying to solve. The thing that seemed off, the part out of place, wasn't something missing so much as something slipping neatly into its home after a long and heartfelt absence.

I knew where I stood in relation to time.

**A/N:**

_Change is in the air_

"The Different" – Melissa Etheridge _Skin_

The boy in the red shirt has really made an impact upon young Bradley Crawford. Question is, just how deep does the crater run, and what lies hidden in the depths? The dark and the wild and the different, indeed.


	29. 28

28

**28**

_There are some things in my life_

_I'll never understand_

_But they become the force_

_That makes me who I am_

"Nothing yet," Donley told me as I sat next to him. "I didn't have much of a chance to ask anyone this morning." It was then that I realized he was shaking.

"Don? You okay?"

"A kid pulled a gun in one of my classes." His eyes didn't seem to focus on his food as he picked at it, not eating. "Don't know if this other guy's going to pull through or not – ricochet off the door frame, do you believe that shit? He was sitting right next to me and got hit in the eye…" Donley's voice trailed off.

Apparently reality was not about to bend its rules today. Rosenkreuz ground onward as always, greased with blood. "I'm sorry. Did you know them?"

He said what I knew he'd say, what any of us would say. "No. Doesn't matter, does it? It's all the same after a while: one of us dies, we all feel the aftershocks."

I caught myself glancing around as though trying to see who was missing.

"Mind if I borrow Donley a minute?" Jaxon Norwood leaned in between us, his eyes warm with concern. Not waiting for an answer, he shifted to telepathic speech and nudged Donley to scoot over. I could tell they were talking by the way Norwood's forehead wrinkled up. He'd need to work on that, perfect his poker face if he was going to make it at Berlin.

I felt myself smile. I remembered my first meeting with the guy, how his future had not been fixed. Today I could See him graduating from medical, about three years down the road. He has a knack for putting telepaths back together, though he didn't know this yet. Donley was in good hands with him.

The rest of the day continued in the same logical, sensible progression of classes, conflict, and resolution, like a magnificent dance that only looks chaotic when one is caught on the outside. I checked my watch at random, had to keep from grinning when I consistently pegged the time within ten minutes. As my last class ended, I allowed myself a cautious smile. My brain had finally shaken off its yearly spring freakiness, leaving me with a lopsided sense of optimism. As long as I didn't do anything stupid, I should be fine until next March, and maybe by then Frau Sheffield would know what was happening with me.

My imagination handed me an image of the red-shirted boy, eyes like obsidian fresh from the heart of the volcano. This couldn't have anything to do with him!

Could it?

He'd made the visions stop.

He'd made them spin in the first place.

Shit, what if he _was_ an illusionist? My paranoia swept into overdrive again as I dropped my books at my room and made my way back to the dining hall. I had just about convinced myself to leave it alone when Donley intercepted me. :Definitely need to talk, Crawford. Come on.: He hurried me through the meal line and off to a table with a clear view of the door.

"Keep your shields up and your voice down," he muttered, tearing into his dinner as though he were being timed. "I was right, that guy is trouble."

My heart seemed to stop. I didn't want to hear this! I wanted the impossible fairy-tale encounter to be just that, not connected with the reality of Rosenkreuz. I heard my voice whisper the simplest question I could think of. "So, what is he, then? A snitch?"

Donley snorted a harsh laugh, spitting some of his vegetables back to his plate. "No, not that kind of trouble. Black market. Like those guys that got to Trevor."

I forced down a bite of food without tasting it. It seemed to stick in my throat, hung up on my heart which still didn't seem to be beating quite right. I tried frantically to remember the guys in that redshirt patrol, the ones who had zeroed in on Trevor like sharks. Without a doubt I knew that the dark-haired boy had not been among them. "That wasn't him," I murmured, though I had no idea why I was trying to defend this guy.

"There's more than one crew, you know. Don't be stupid."

Stupid. I'd been stupid, all right. Handed myself over to a stranger on a platter.

He thought my eyes were beautiful.

"What else do you know?" I whispered, not wanting an answer.

"He's got a reputation. With the older telepaths." Donley glowered at me meaningfully. That look said it was only a matter of time before that group included himself. "And the teachers are watching him."

"What for?" This really bothered me. If they were watching him, did they know about last night?

Who _were_ those guys chasing him, anyway?

Donley shrugged, apparently at the end of his information. "I don't know, Crawford. Why don't you ask your mentor?"

"That was low, Don!" I snarled. "I'll figure this out, all right?" I couldn't reconcile his words with my memory, unless – "Wait, he's not a mixed talent, is he? Not like an illusionist or something?"

"Not that I heard, but people really don't want to talk about him. He's a peke." Donley spared me the kind of look my brother used to give me when he thought I was playing dumb. "And I don't mean the dog."

Peke. PK.

_Firestarter._

Oh shit. Everyone knew those guys were as crazy as they were rare – just like precogs.

Donley watched the comprehension dawn behind my eyes, then stood. "I have some studying to do. You got anything going tonight?"

"Another meeting with Sheffield," I murmured. I was still chewing on Donley's words, which were tougher and more bitter than the food.

"You coming right back after?" His expression was somber, more worried than I'd seen him in a long time. He'd make a good field leader, once he convinced the committee that a telepath could, in fact, be trusted in such a position.

I shook myself out of the gauze-like vision. "Yeah. Should I check in, do you think?"

"She'll know something's up, if you do."

I considered my options. The way Donley was talking, he was this close to following me himself to be sure I made it back tonight. "I'll be okay," I heard myself tell him. "If you get worried, you can always have what's-his-name call her office." I stopped myself from mentioning Frau Sheffield's laryngitis. If Donley needed some kind of lifeline for me, I wanted to leave him feeling more secure, not less.

"You don't like Pederson, do you?" Don asked, only slightly serious now.

"It's more that I think he doesn't like me. I make him uncomfortable or something."

"Well, you _are_ The Precog, you know," Donley grinned around the words and ushered me out of the dining hall.

We studied for a while, until my appointment came up. Then I took the relevant notebook and my hall pass and headed out, Donley's concern a palpable presence at my back until the door swung shut. Heightened senses kept me jumpy as I hurried to Frau Sheffield's office. I congratulated myself on making it without incident and knocked.

Frau Sheffield opened the door and smiled in silent greeting. The vaporizer grumbled on her desk amid a tea setting for two.

She held up a pre-written note. _I shall be using written cues tonight, as my voice is quite gone. Are you having any more success with control today?_

"Yes, ma'am, thank you." I followed her to the desk, sat in the antique chair. "Things have been much clearer today, and I haven't lost track of time once since last night." I hurried to suppress the image that rose with that thought – he had nothing to do with this.

Sheffield smiled graciously and offered me some tea. As I sipped, she wrote: _I am glad to hear that. Your well-being is crucial, Bradley. Did the mist help, then?_

"I don't know if it was the mist, or just the talk we had. It's like I've –" _found my anchor_ "– finally put something together," I murmured, unable to put last night behind me.

She wrote quickly, her handwriting slanting strongly to the right. _Whatever you did that worked, keep doing it, boy! Each of us has their own method for staying in the now – if you've found something that works for you, that's exactly what I was hoping for._

I felt like I was blushing a little, though in the dim lighting I thought she wouldn't notice. "Thank you, ma'am. I don't know if it's just that April is over, or what, but I'm hopeful."

_So am I, Bradley._ She paused to drink some tea, then wrote, _Just take this hour to rest and meditate. If you have any visions, write them down. If you have any distress, tell me._ She left the notepad in the middle of the desk, facing toward me, and leaned back in her chair as though napping. Every now and then she'd give a small rough cough and drink some tea.

Seemingly random images drifted through my mind. I caught one and looked at it, then I opened my notebook and began to write.

_It's something blooming outside the walls, not a cold. It will be worse next year, but you'll find the source and a remedy for it. I don't See it blooming anymore this year, so I can't figure out what it was. You should be feeling better within a few more days._

_In April 2001, all the pieces will fall together in the Elders' grand design._

I paused, pencil hovering over the page. I hadn't intended to write that; moreover, I did not want to write that I would be one of those pieces.

I tried to turn my thoughts to other things, see what visions I might find along different lines. Something was interfering with my Sight; I couldn't focus, but it wasn't totally blocked, either.

Frau Sheffield had said that this vaporizer put off a field that quieted the Sight.

Then how had I Seen those two things, so clearly I couldn't mistake them for anything else?

"Ma'am? A question?" I cleared my throat and tried not to sound too nervous. "What does it mean if I get clear and orderly visions in spite of the electro-magnetic field here?"

Frau Sheffield smiled, a satisfied gleam in her eyes. In a bare whisper she said, "It means you're stronger than I am, Herr Crawford."

I knew her voice was raspy from the laryngitis, but something about her words sounded like the croaking of crows. I didn't want to be stronger than my primary teacher! What kind of trouble would that bring down on me?

Her hand moved quickly, reclaiming her notepad and scribbling a fresh message. _Don't let it go to your head, boy. The Sight waxes and wanes. Strong today is weak tomorrow. _She gestured for me to read, then continued writing: _It always cycles. But I suspect that you will ultimately be more powerful than any other Esset precog. It is your destiny, is it not? __YOU'VE SEEN THAT._

Her eyes did not allow me to ignore the last statement. They bored into me until I looked up, challenged me to admit the terrifying truth.

"Yes, ma'am. I have."

**A/N:**

_There are some things in my life_

_I'll never understand_

_But they become the force_

_That makes me who I am_

"The Different" – Melissa Etheridge _Skin_

Redshirts v. blueshirts, part of the dynamic that keeps Rosenkreuz alive. Predator and prey, supplier and junkie, guard and prisoner, pick a pair and it most likely fits. Most likely. In most cases.

And yet…I think Gramma said something relevant, didn't she? Or was that about something else? Never can tell with precogs.

Speaking of precogs, I wonder why Frau Sheffield told Bradley how strong he would become? What is her interest in him? She does seem awfully well-connected…


	30. 29

29

**29**

_But don't you want to know_

_What the dark and the wild_

_And the different know_

The walk back to my room seemed to take forever. Part of me kept hoping that the strange dark-eyed boy in the red shirt would come along and break the rhythm of my life again. Another part kept hoping that I wouldn't wind up regretting him.

Donley had waited up for me. He breathed a loud sigh of relief when I opened the door, then lit a cigarette and leaned back on his bunk. "I take it nothing weird happened?"

"I wouldn't say that," I grumbled, mildly offended at his implication. Somehow I couldn't bring myself to dismiss last night so easily. "You try having a one-on-one training session with someone who can't talk."

"Say what?"

"She's got laryngitis," I told him, kicking off my shoes. "Can't speak above a whisper. We did most of our talking on paper."

"So if I _was_ worried, how the hell could I have called her and asked, huh?" Donley glared at me, and it occurred to me that we were the last of our set of roommates. I knew I wasn't even one of the original batch he'd roomed with, and now I was all he had left. The others were long dead or simply gone. Even Smythe had been moved out, just like Julian. I couldn't fault Donley for being protective, or angry.

"She can hear just fine, Don. If I hadn't made it back, you could have called her and figured something out." I finished stripping down to my underclothes for the night and dug through my hidden cache for the tin of peppermints Julian had given me so long ago. If he were still here, would last night have happened? My breath caught in my throat as my mind tried to compare the two boys. Jules had been my friend, with a natural trust growing up between us. We'd given each other emotional and physical comfort, but was that the same as love?

Wait – love? When the hell had I fallen in love with anyone?

"You're doing it again, you know." Donley regarded me with a faint smile; his cigarette dropped cooling ash to the floor in a splash of pale gray. "May as well talk out loud, Crawford. You'll keep me awake all night like this."

My face went hot. "What did you pick up?"

"You've really got it bad for that guy, don't you?" Don leaned back against the wall. His hair brushed the ceiling; pretty soon he'd have to switch to the lower bunk or smack his head every time he tried to sit up in bed. "Hey, it can happen. I've been sneaking into David's office whenever I can get away with it."

I stared at him. Never had it occurred to me that they might be anything more than Jules and I had been: good friends who shared a little more than usual. Besides that, I hadn't realized Smythe was still at Rosenkreuz. "He didn't transfer?"

"No, he's training for a post in Retrieval."

A sudden flare of Sight caught me by surprise. "Don. Don't go this week." I regretted saying it as soon as the words were out; trying to change the future usually set uglier things in motion, no matter how good the intention. Nothing for it now, the warning had slipped out on its own. I tried to remind myself that he could have decided not to go anyway, or he could still wind up there. Neither of those thoughts made me feel any better.

Donley didn't ask, he just nodded slowly. "Thanks, Crawford. Is he okay?"

"Yeah, he will be." I tried to look more closely, but the future writhed away from me. Something had shifted; I could only hope it wasn't to something worse.

Conversation faded out after that. I figured Donley was trying to contact Smythe telepathically, say _goodnight_ or _watch your back_ or the like. I lay back on my bunk and closed my eyes. Dreamless, blameless sleep took me under at once.

The next morning found my time-sense still in working order, and Donley nursing a headache. He thanked me again for the warning, and again I hoped I hadn't screwed anything up.

I'd almost managed to set my thoughts to normal that morning when Donley and I picked up our breakfast trays and trudged to our usual table. Two clusters of blue-shirted kids huddled at the table, engaged in their own conversations. A few of them wore lighter gray, reminding me that in another year or so, so would I.

I'd be turning sixteen this year; would my mother bake a cake for me?

Donley joined in on one of the groups, parking himself between me and Jaxon Norwood. I let my thoughts drift quietly away from my birthday and focused on pretending the eggs were real.

After a while, the guy on the other side of Norwood leaned toward Donley. "Hey, you were asking about Hernandez?"

My hackles went up. I tried to listen without seeming interested.

Donley wiped his mouth and said, "I think he's putting pressure on a friend of mine. Heard anything?"

"Is this friend of yours a telepath?" the other guy asked, sounding suspicious. He probably thought Donley meant himself.

But Donley smirked and shook his head. "Nope. Variety meat."

Someone snorted a laugh.

Norwood finished his coffee, crumpled the paper cup and dropped it onto the tray. "I haven't, but that doesn't mean much. I'm not exactly well-connected with _that_ crowd."

The light-jacketed kid across the table grinned and asked, "How _is_ Devin these days?"

Norwood flushed a little, looked around. "Generous, as always."

I picked at my food, hoping that none of these telepaths realized that I was the friend Donley was talking about. Their banter didn't make me feel very good. I had no reason to suspect that this Hernandez guy wanted anything more from me than a good time and a precognitive lookout. In all likelihood, I'd never see him again, and that was fine by me. I felt like I'd been duped, sweet-talked into something I'd never have done if I'd been in my right mind. In fact, I still wasn't convinced he wasn't some kind of mixed talent with a very persuasive gift.

Donley elbowed me in the side. :You're buzzing.:

I gaped at him, then clamped down the shields. "Better?" I growled, stuffing the last bit of powdered egg into my mouth.

As Norwood got up to leave, he told Donley that he'd stay on the alert for any news. "If Hernandez tries to shake down your friend, I may have some favors to call in from Devin's crowd. Let me know, okay?"

"Thanks, man. Keep it clear today."

"You too."

Donley and I stayed at the table a few more moments. When his telepath buddies were gone, he said, "It'll be okay, Crawford. We'll look out for you. Besides, everyone knows you don't fuck with The Precog, right?"

Yeah. Everyone except the people in charge. "Right, Don."

Again, morning classes crawled by in a mind-numbing blur of boredom, with me aware of every passing minute. I was beginning to think that maybe losing time had been an improvement: at least I hadn't had to watch my life slide away in an Orwellian nightmare.

And again I dragged myself back to the dining hall for another tasteless lunch among the missing. There had to be more to my life than this, though I was very careful not to think that too loudly. Any dissatisfaction with the way of things wouldn't be looked on very kindly by those in power, and I had no desire to tempt fate on that score. A nice safe desk job and a ficus plant were waiting for me on the other side of my classes if I just played my cards right. Distantly I started calculating how many more years I would be a student before reaching the exalted heights of clerk or secretary.

Donley and his friends let me sulk, probably thinking that I'd had a bad run-in with one of my teachers. That had happened often enough these past months, with extra work assigned or a trip to Konnor's office while time had spun around me. I didn't feel like telling them that today's problem was the exact opposite: too much clarity in a world that looked better by darkness.

Telepathic and spoken chatter formed the backdrop of my meal as they discussed this problem or that speculation, and I felt more on the outside than ever. As they'd gotten older, the blue-shirts had begun to close ranks along their separate lines. Telepaths formed small groups that excluded the clairsentients through no fault of theirs. They just couldn't offer each other any kind of support, and as our numbers dwindled – _attrition_ – we all became a little more isolated. At least Donley had some friends of his own kind, guys who understood the special hell known only to a telepath.

Damn, I was doing a lot of heavy thinking today. It had been so long since my mind and I had been acquainted I hadn't suspected it could run so deep.

A ripple of tension cut through the audible conversation, followed by the buzz of rapid telepathic speech around me. I looked up.

An older kid in light gray uniform was approaching our table. He wore his jacket open in clear defiance of code, as so many of the predators were inclined to do. He was looking back over his shoulder, talking to some other guys as he moved away from them, toward me.

His smile was brilliant.

I looked down, hoping he'd go away, hoping my tablemates hadn't seen my reaction, hoping –

A pair of strong brown hands slammed down flat on our table, right in front of me. Crimson-trimmed gray sleeves framed a tight red t-shirt clinging to solid muscle, drawing my eyes upward.

Around me, the telepaths scattered like mice. Norwood took Donley by the arm and hauled him back with a muttered, "Later, Crawford." Another mumbled "Nice knowing you" as he fled with his fellows, leaving me alone with the source of their fear.

I took a deep breath, replayed everything they'd told me about this guy, and only then looked at his face.

His eyes sparkled with dark humor, and his grin was pure arrogance. He watched my so-called friends clear out of the dining hall the way I'd imagine a leopard watches the herd vanish as its prey lay dying in its jaws.

"I forgot to give you something, the other night."

I glared at him, refusing to be intimidated. "And what do you think you have that I'd want?"

His smile didn't waver, though it seemed to soften, and his eyes grew warm again. "My name. It's Fernando."

I swallowed, reeling in the charisma of him. I still couldn't discount the possibility of this being some kind of psychic charm, and I wasn't about to give in without a fight this time. "Hernandez, right? I've heard about you."

"I'll bet you have!" He sat down opposite me, resting his elbows on the table and leaning over them. "I'm sure they have some interesting stories to tell you. But that's not why I'm here."

"Why _are_ you here, then?" I asked, feeling bolder than I probably should have. This guy was a phys talent, a firestarter, if Don was right; in any case, he was big enough to pulverize me if I pissed him off.

"I told you. I had something to give you." His expression was calm now; in another world I'd call it sincere. "When's your next class?"

I frowned. "Right after lunch, why?"

He looked at the clock on the wall. We had maybe twenty minutes; apparently that wasn't enough for whatever he had in mind. "When do you have a break?"

"Not until after dinner. They keep me pretty well under wraps. What's this about?" Though I didn't want to admit it, curiosity and desire had just about put suspicion back in its little box. There was just something about this guy…

Dark, hot eyes bored into mine, and though I reflexively closed my shields, I could feel him inside of me. "I told you I'd see you again. Tonight, then. After dinner. Meet me in building 1A, second floor. Next to the custodial closet; the room will be open." I couldn't close my eyes fast enough to miss the bright smile shining only for me. "Trust me, be there." With that he got up and strode to the door.

The group of redshirts he'd been talking to waved as he left.

I felt naked. He'd just made a score in front of his friends, at my expense. By this time tomorrow, everyone would know that he was after The Precog, and that couldn't be a good thing. Moving like a small tasty animal among the scavengers, I put away my food tray and hurried to class.

My mind spun. I was scared, more scared than I'd been in some time, and yet…when he looked at me, I wasn't afraid of him. I should have been, logic told me that in a loud and strident voice. But I still couldn't reconcile all the talk with the person.

Hernandez. Redshirt. Pyrokinetic. Black marketeer.

_Fernando._

"Herr Crawford, are you with us this afternoon?"

I blinked, aware of a slight blush on my cheeks. Acting on instinct, I held up my left hand and began to scribble furiously in my notebook. The teacher waited patiently until I looked up. "Thank you, sir. Yes, I am." He nodded and repeated the question, allowing someone else to answer it for me.

The feeling of personal power – of something close to autonomy, even! – roared through me and thundered in my ears. I reinforced my shields as the realization locked into place: they couldn't tell if I was bluffing! Vision or woolgathering – they couldn't tell the difference, unless I told them through my own carelessness. They all thought I was on the verge of insanity. No telepath wanted to look inside my head, except Donley, and even he seemed uncomfortable about it. He'd helped me forge a sanctuary in my mind, a stronghold that few could breach –

And Fernando Hernandez had just waltzed right on in and made himself at home.

I decided then that I would keep that appointment tonight, though I'd have to be very, very careful.

**A/N:**

_But don't you want to know_

_What the dark and the wild_

_And the different know_

"The Different" – Melissa Etheridge _Skin_

Again, in a small way, we are reminded that Bradley Crawford is no ordinary kid – by the time he was twelve, he'd read George Orwell's "1984" and "Animal Farm". No wonder Rosenkreuz seemed so damnably familiar.


	31. 30

30

**30**

_You want to know where winds come from_

"You're here. I'm impressed." Fernando pulled the door shut behind him and leaned against it. He took a pack of cigarettes from inside his jacket, though he didn't shake one out to smoke; he just held the pack casually and waited for me to say something.

I watched him from my vantage point next to the window, where I'd already gauged the glass to be weak and the drop manageable, should the need arise. Clearing my throat, I tried to sound strong as I said, "What do you want with me?"

Fernando scowled. "You have questions, I have answers. That _is_ why you came, right?"

"Maybe." Actually seeing Fernando again, I felt torn by conflicting emotions. On the one hand, I felt like I'd been played, set up in some way. But on the other, I just wanted him to hold me. I didn't like feeling this confused, this overwhelmed, and I was fully prepared to take it out on him. "What did you do to me, the other night? You screwed up my visions."

His eyebrow went up as he cocked his head and regarded me with unveiled speculation. "I could ask you the same question."

His attitude seemingly one of intimidation, his words slid past with only partial meaning for me. I felt only anger, the slow smolder of wounded pride, and now it flared into a full burn. "Humor me."

Fernando's expression softened, but only slightly. He took a deep breath and said, "You affected my gift. The Sight. It's always been small, and quiet, just enough to cause trouble – until you. Care to explain yourself?"

I gasped. His arrogant comment from a moment before suddenly hit home, and my sense of reality tipped a little. "I don't get it," I murmured, pacing a few steps before sitting numbly on the edge of a desk. "_I_ affected _you_?"

He nodded gravely and stepped toward me. "Yeah, you did. I've never had that happen before, though I _have_ heard of such things."

"Wait, wait, wait," I blurted, waving a hand in frustration. "No, you messed _me_ all up! How did you do that?"

Fernando smiled then, gentle and warm and impossibly reassuring. "So it _did_ flow both ways. How very strange."

"I should report you," I stated, training taking over for emotion. "I should tell them what you did."

"Why? So they could harness us together and make you even stronger?" He shook his head. "This isn't about them, Bradley. Unless you make it so." He regarded me with calm eyes that seemed just a little sad. "Your friends have told you all about me, yes?"

"They told me you're a dealer," I retorted sharply. I was determined not to trust this guy, no matter how much I wanted to. Images of Trevor lingered in my head: his laugh, his desperation, his empty bunk. "You target telepaths."

Fernando sat down in front of me, folding himself neatly to the floor. He tossed the pack of smokes to land by my feet. "I am a smuggler, yes," he stated simply. "Telepaths need, I provide."

"They ran from you."

"They always run. It's part of their conditioning."

I frowned at him. It was like talking to the Cheshire Cat: riddles within riddles. Absently I took a step away from him and started to pace again. "You like it when they run?"

"It makes them feel better, so yes, I gloat." He shook his head and added, "But _I_ do not chase them."

I blinked, stopping in my tracks. That wasn't one of the answers I'd anticipated, it didn't make sense in this place. This guy confused me down to the bone, and it was only getting worse.

Fernando held his hand out to me. "I confuse you, don't I?"

I shivered; something about him speaking my thoughts aloud gave me chills. I took hold of his hand and murmured, "Yes. You do."

"Come, sit with me. They can see you through the window if you stand there."

I sank to the floor, sat facing him. In the silence, I picked up the pack of cigarettes; it was very nearly full.

He smiled amiably and asked, "Do you smoke?"

"Not usually. Sometimes," I replied, feeling a little incoherent.

"Me neither. Occasionally," he said, his tone light. "Keep those. They're good for paying tolls."

"Thanks." I tucked the pack into my jacket.

There were so many questions spinning through my head, and I had no idea where to start. I found myself just staring at him, very aware of his greater size, the scent of fire that seemed to cling to him, the impossibly long eyelashes that veiled his eyes like smoke. Fernando exuded confidence and calm dignity, not the arrogance he'd been projecting in the lunch room. Unable to reconcile any of it, I heard myself ask, "Who are you, really?"

He shrugged and leaned back against a desk. "I am just Fernando. But I don't think that was the answer you came here for."

"What _did_ happen the other night?" I blurted, needing that answer to set myself right again.

"As I said, I have the Sight, too," he murmured, his voice low and thoughtful. "Nowhere near as strong as yours, just enough to get me in trouble. The teachers think I cheat. But I do not, I study hard, and sometimes I See the answers." He met my gaze and stated, "You changed that. I have not felt right since then. The Sight is stronger now. It is as if my soul has caught a glimpse of something just over the horizon, and wants nothing more than to find it again."

My hand rose to my mouth and I started absently chewing at the side of a fingernail. This couldn't be real. The same strangeness that I'd experienced had affected him too, but how?

In psi theory class, they'd talked about talents having resonance with each other, but it wasn't something that Esset could measure or even prove for sure, and I'd never heard of it affecting precognition. But somehow, after I'd wandered alone for so long, he had put me back in my orbit. And apparently I had knocked him right out of his.

"It's crazy," he murmured, "I know. And no, I haven't told anyone. That wouldn't be prudent, for either of us."

I tried to ignore the gentle accusation in his statement, coming in the wake of my own verbal gauntlet, then winced as my restless gnawing worked through the toughened skin on my finger and hit something sensitive.

He caught hold of my besieged hand and tugged it away from my teeth, enfolding it between both of his. His eyes smoldered with mystery.

I cleared my throat, tried to remember the questions I'd wanted to throw at him only minutes earlier. Questions and accusations, none of which seemed relevant anymore.

Fernando tilted his head and frowned slightly. "What? What is that look?"

"Just thinking," I murmured. "About you."

"Your friends told you things that worry you, didn't they?" He shook his head; I couldn't tell if he was angry, or sad. "In life, half of everything you learn is only someone else's opinion, unless you are either very lucky or very wise. The lucky manage to avoid that trap. The wise recognize it for what it is and use it to their own advantage." Fernando leaned toward me, gazing into my eyes. "I will never lie to you. Is that enough?"

I swallowed. "What am I to you?" I whispered, giving voice to the only question I had left.

Fernando cupped the back of my head and pulled me closer, meeting me halfway, his lips soft and warm against mine and tasting of cinnamon.

As the Sight trembled and bucked at his touch, Fernando gently broke the kiss, allowing me to fall back into the present without too much disruption. His voice was husky as he said, "You tell me."

"I'm just Bradley," I whispered, still tasting him on my mouth.

"And I am still just Fernando."

'_Nando…_

_If this is a dream, I don't ever want it to end._

"Are you all right? You're trembling."

My heart thudded against my ribs. Time had just skipped. I clung to Fernando, my only solid reference for 'now', and tried to clear my head. Something terrible waited for me, sometime in the future, and I couldn't See when or what or why, only that I wouldn't want to wake up anymore.

I am smiling, though I don't think my expression has changed. _So this is what that vision meant…_

"What time is it?" I heard my voice rasp against the still air of an unused classroom.

"Que horas são?" Fernando lifted my hand and tugged back the sleeve for me, showing me my watch. "You only lost a couple of minutes."

"Que hora es?" I murmured, recalling the little bit of Spanish I'd learned ages ago.

Fernando shook his head. "Not Spanish. It's Portuguese."

"Oh." Slowly my breathing returned to normal, the vision and time slip fading to a vague memory that seemed to anchor in both past and future. "How did that go, again?"

He smiled and kissed my fingertips. "Que horas são – what is the time?"

I repeated it a few times until my accent sounded almost passable and my time sense stopped freaking out. "Will you teach me more?"

His eyes gleamed like a carefully banked fire. "Anything you wish." Then he gestured toward my watch. "But we should go now. Don't worry," he added as though hearing my unspoken complaint, "we'll see each other again."

"Be careful," I whispered. "My mentor –"

"Shhh," Fernando murmured, "that's not even an issue." He gathered me into his arms for one more moment before walking me toward the door. "You watch out for yourself, Bradley. I can't be everywhere." His warning chilled me in spite of his intense warmth.

As I left the classroom and sought out more populated areas in which to vanish, my mind replayed our meeting. I hoped it would bring new insights, but all it did was add to my confusion. I still couldn't reconcile Fernando himself with all the rumors about him; this only made me feel more vulnerable.

A whisper of Sight brought me up short. I ducked back into a doorway as someone stepped out of the stairwell at the end of the hall. Slow steady footsteps sounded dull against the tile, coming toward me.

I didn't have to see to know who it was. I'd recognize that sound anywhere: the unhurried tread, the softly rasping breath. For a moment I had the awful feeling that Herr Sonndheim knew exactly where I was and who I'd just met with. I felt trapped, though I'd done nothing wrong.

:Do not be afraid of him.: Fernando's voice rang softly through my mind, and I wasn't totally sure I'd really heard him. Then: :Go, now.:

I swallowed and stepped back into the hall.

Herr Sonndheim paused, looked at me quizzically. "Herr Crawford. I understand that congratulations are in order?"

I blinked. "Sir?"

Sonndheim smiled that nasty proprietary smile and said, "Frau Sheffield has noted some progress recently. Pity that your mentor hasn't been more helpful, but these things come as they will, do they not?" He nodded as though confirming something to himself. "Keep up the good work."

"Sir!" I saluted him, not sure if that was the right response but all out of ideas.

Sonndheim smirked a little, but inclined his head in acknowledgement. He resumed his seemingly casual walk, and I turned to go.

"Oh, Herr Crawford?"

I paused.

"Tell your new friend that I am still watching him, with or without you in the picture. Good day."

**A/N:**

_You want to know where winds come from_

"Astronomy" – Blue Öyster Cult _Secret Treaties_

Resonance. Riddles. Reconciliation. Bradley is being drawn into something beyond his understanding, something at once fascinating and perilous. Is it love? Curiosity? Or something more powerful than either?

Questions breed more questions while the Cheshire Cat grins and goes about his business.


End file.
